


Twilight Lied and I Have Receipts

by PuddingTown



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst with a Happy Ending, I promise no one you love will actually die., M/M, Mechanic Eddie Kaspbrak, Mystery, Romantic Comedy, Temporary Amnesia, Temporary Character Death, This is a romcom., Twilight References, minor hanbrough and stanpat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:06:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 55,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27000178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddingTown/pseuds/PuddingTown
Summary: Eddie Kaspbrak never considered himself lucky.So his crush being a vampire, and one of his best childhood friends being a vampire hunter? Extremely on brand.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Reddie - Relationship
Comments: 42
Kudos: 137





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back! I began this story an incredibly long time ago, but had to abandon it because of life reasons. Now those reasons are gone, and I have a new and improved direction for this story. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I do!

Lightning flashed, quickly followed by loud cracks of thunder.

If he concentrated hard enough, he could remove the houses from the street. He saw how the land _used_ to lay peacefully, undisturbed by man. Several yards away, he saw the exact spot the treaty was signed.

No, _he_ personally didn’t witness the moment.

But his mother had.

He pitied human children; history would’ve been significantly more interesting if everyone could learn the way he did. His mother shared all which she spectated — the birth of their laws and what he needed to know in order to survive. She had the peculiar gift of _showing_ , over telling. He wondered if his own special talents were an inherited variation of hers-

“Richie!” a voice called, yanking him from his thoughts. Shaking his head, Richie glanced at the roof where his sister stood.

Red hair stuck to her cheeks. Her bright blue eyes were illuminous. Cat-like. They were all he could see clearly in the darkness of the storm. She nodded once to him, motioning to the balcony. Licking his lips, he could hear the frail heartbeat inside the second-story bedroom; he could practically taste the iron on his tongue. Climbing nimbly up the trellis, he scaled the house, meeting her in front of the French doors.

“What’s in there, Bev? Homeless?” he asked, salivating. Bev shook her head, a small grin on her face. Whenever she smiled — at least, when she was hungry — one of her razor sharp teeth poked out. The thought of their kind needing braces made him snort, but he covered his mouth to keep it stifled. Fortunately, a rumble of thunder drowned him out.

Peering into the windows, Richie expected to see another junkie lying in an empty room. He assumed the house was deserted, and his eyes widened in shock when he saw a man connected to several tubes and wires. His breathing was labored, his heartbeat barely present. Tilting his head, Richie raised a brow.

His stomach growled, almost loud enough to beat the weather.

As wary as he felt, he trusted Beverly. Her birth parents were long dead; his mother raised them both their whole lives. Blood didn’t matter (ironically enough) because as far as he was concerned, she was his family. He trusted her with his life, and vice versa. She wouldn’t lure him into a trap.

Stealing another glance into the window, a string of drool elongated and broke off from his lip as Richie watched the man cough. He was going to die soon, and not even because of them. They’d be merciful in comparison to the cancer attacking his body.

Nodding, Richie cracked the door open, easing into the room. Bev followed silently after him, their footsteps muted underneath the howling winds. She motioned to the unused IV drip in the corner of the room, and Richie tiptoed over, fetching the needle and tube. Bringing it back, he let Bev find the vein. She stuck the man easily; he remained undisturbed while she used the tube like a straw.

Again, his stomach growled. This man had roughly a gallon of blood to spare for them; about two liters each, just enough to fill the “eight glasses a day” quota. Of course, blood was quite different from water.

Huffing when her turn was up, Bev begrudgingly handed the tube over. Licking his lips, Richie closed his mouth over her thumb, leaving enough room for her to remove it. Blood sprayed onto his tongue at once. The taste sent him elsewhere; he no longer saw the dark, lonesome room he and Bev stood in. His eyes clouded over, and all he saw was white.

A burning thirst — a violent, painful dryness in his throat — danced with the ravenous hunger clawing inside of his belly. Both aches lit up when he swallowed mouthful after mouthful of blood. His eyes rolled back; he could feel the warmth reaching his fingertips and down to his toes. A flush returned to his cheeks, and his body felt stronger. As he finished, the blood began to taste worse. A residue of chemicals sat on his tongue, and he wiped it on his sleeve.

Of course, he couldn’t afford to get picky. Not when he was starving so close to the deadline.

Beverly cleaned out the tube, fixing the IV as if they were never there.

The man lied motionless on his deathbed. His heart monitor echoed the flatline, the machine as weak as he had been. Whoever housed him wouldn’t hear over the storm; they would find him in the morning. Swallowing thickly, Richie looked away, towards the window.

He envied those like him, living in bigger cities. Humans all had a death wish, whether they realized it or not. Nowhere was safe.

Living in a more populated area, however, came with risks. For every perk, there was an equal and opposite downside. If he could barely keep his existence a secret in dreary little Derry, Maine, he couldn’t hope to hide somewhere like New York. Then again, he couldn’t guarantee the laws would be the same one _town_ over — let alone a whole state.

Regardless, the decision to leave didn’t belong to him. His mother’s word was law, and she forbade him from setting foot out of Derry until he was older. His safety mattered more to her than an easy hunt. However, over the years, the town began to change. Human blood was harder to access without violating terms of the treaty.

Never harm a human.

If not for Beverly’s "gift," donations from blood drives would be impossible to snag — and that particular source was already fickle to begin with.

_Someone’s watching._

Richie glanced over to Beverly, hearing the voice in her head. Everybody had one. A voice. Thoughts.

“Hey-”

_Shut up. I’ll take care of it._

Beverly motioned for him to leave, and he didn’t object. Before jumping off the roof, he peered over his shoulder, seeing Beverly mostly blocking a cowering child. Shutting his eyes, Richie held out his arms and allowed the wind to carry him. When he landed, he was several blocks away. He stood in an alleyway, hidden from view. Brushing rain from his hair, he paused to stare at a red, metal box hanging on for dear life against the vicious weather. Inside, it carried the previous days' newspaper. The date was the most boldly printed, after the main headline.

**December 19th, 2009.**

Lighting a cigarette, he blew out smoke rings. At least one cool thing about being a vampire — aside from the whole “super power” nonsense — was his mother couldn’t have cared less about him smoking cigarettes. Even kids from the 50’s, when smoking was advertised freely on baseball cards and bubblegum wrappers, had to worry about getting busted with a pack. Snickering, he looked up to see Bev. She landed in front of him, snatching his cigarette to steal a drag.

“You didn’t kill the kid, did you?” Richie asked. He couldn’t see much, but the child was no older than them. Ten. Maybe eleven.

Beverly scowled, whacking the back of his head.

“Idiot, of course not! Your mom would kill me, even if I _can_ clean up after myself,” she sneered, handing the cigarette back. Brushing a cobweb from her shoulder, she playfully snapped her teeth at the puff of smoke he blew out. “Come morning, he won’t remember a thing.”


	2. Coming Out Was More Fun Than Coming Home

_(...under your spell... )_

His face scrunched, his nose twitching as though he were deep in concentration.

_(this is the part where...)_

“Eddie! Eddie, come the fuck _on_ , wake up!” Stan shouted, angrily rapping his knuckles on the door. Eddie’s eyes shot open as he bolted upright. He stared at the source of the noise, and imagined the knocking had to hurt — the doors weren’t exactly flimsy. “If you make me listen to another Ariana Grande song before ten, I’m spitting in your juice. There’s a huge loogie here; I can feel it!” Stanley’s threats didn’t fall on deaf ears per se, but Eddie couldn’t begin to focus while yawning.

Hitting his clock radio, silencing the pop music, Eddie rubbed sleep from his eyes. Falling back onto the bed, he yelped when he blinked and noticed the face staring down.

Taylor Lautner. Circa 2010.

His mouth twisted and he rolled out of bed, fetching a change of clothes before disappearing into the bathroom. Hesitating as he twisted the knob, he sighed with immense relief when only water poured from the faucet. On his first day back home, the sink sputtered for a few seconds before half a dozen spiders crawled out. The house waited far too long for occupants, and it showed.

“ _Eddie, my guy, your mom wouldn’t have happened to be... the Blair Witch?” Stan teased, carrying a box of his belongings into the living room. Stan’s girlfriend, Patty, followed close behind, her eyes wide as she inspected her surroundings. From the black, metal gate, to the old Victorian architecture, she was enthralled._

“ _Shut it,_ _ **Staniel**_ _,” Eddie huffed, sneering his made-up name. He glanced up at the castle-like turret — it held the bay window which used to belong to him. Dust caked the glass; he doubted he would be capable of seeing through it for a while. His immediate thoughts were to hire a cleaning crew while he and his friends explored their newly improved hometown. Unable to keep his own mouth shut, he muttered, “That’s not a bad idea...”_

“ _What’s that?” Patty asked, shooting him a glance. She knelt down for a better angle, snapping photo after photo on her old camera. Eddie was pretty convinced that the guest room would make a fabulous photo lab for her. The whole house screamed perfection for them — aside from being borderline condemned._

“ _Nothing,” Eddie mumbled, waving his hand dismissively as he surveyed the property again. All the flowers and tomato plants in his fathers' garden had withered and died. Cobwebs were visible in every convenient crook. However, there was still a balcony facing the backyard and all the land surrounding, which he knew Stanley would spend a lot of time on. The cellar had potential for an in-house movie theater. After updating the kitchen, he could finally practice cooking, and make use of all the recipes he saved from Pinterest. The old Kaspbrak house was ripe with potential._

While his childhood home was cleaned, fumigated, cleaned again, and properly moved in to, Eddie and his friends wound up staying at a local inn. He figured that would be easier than actually unpacking himself, and although he wished all of the old furniture and décor was thrown out, he hadn’t thought to request as much. Spending what he did on moving alone felt extravagant.

Of course, Eddie couldn’t pretend he was struggling to adjust to wealth; he wasted no time splurging on a first class flight back home, paying to have all of their belongings packed and shipped for them.

Drying the water from his face, Eddie avoided showering just yet. A 1955 Chevy Bel Air waited in his garage, and he spent the night dreaming of it.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he grimaced at his wallpaper. The peeling, faded teddy bears wouldn’t have been so bad if twinks and twunks weren’t plastered over them. Tween Eddie thought he was being bold hanging up every clipping of Jacob Black and Jasper Cullen that he could get his hands on. His mother used to insist he wanted to _be_ those boys; to this day, Eddie still couldn’t determine who she was trying to convince.

Him, or herself.

It was almost too bad he’d never know.

At least she got one part right: Jacob Black was the reason Eddie became a car fanatic. Ten years ago, he watched the second Twilight movie in theaters, proceeding to buy a bootlegged copy from his neighbor the next week. His eyes were saucers glued to the screen as Jacob tinkered with Bella’s truck, all while he played with the antique toy cars his father left him.

Okay, Jacob Black was _one_ of the reasons Eddie became a car fanatic.

Frank Kaspbrak left several items to his wife and son, his model car collection being one.

Looking around his bedroom, Eddie slowly approached the posters. His mouth twisted into a pout, and he cautiously reached his hand out. Biting his lip, he paused before tearing the first poster down, as if the man in the photo would come alive and attack him for committing such a crime. Shaking his head and chuckling, Eddie began ripping his walls mostly clean, ignoring the taped corners and small strips left behind. Balling up the magazine clippings, he tossed them into the waste bin beside his desk.

He planned on moving the vintage car collection from the basement to the shelves lining his walls, and he was certain he’d feel better about the room then.

With cars in mind once more, he hurriedly left for the garage. Patty and Stan were either asleep, or taking their time preparing for the day; the door to their room was shut. Eddie didn’t think much of it, however, as he scampered down to the first floor, jumping off the kite winder stairs. His legs wobbled when he landed; he pinwheeled his arms to stay upright. Grinning with the tenacity of a child on Christmas morning, he nearly slipped as he bolted through the back door.

His car awaited him — glowing with a seafoam green paint job, and fully finished, silver leather upholstery.

It was a shiny piece of crap that went _vroom vroom_ , and frankly, he adored the vehicle.

_The junker was rusted, nearly beyond recognition._

“ _Are you... sure about this?” Stan asked, yanking his hand back when a roach crawled out of the broken side-view mirror. Eddie beamed, wrapping an arm around Stan’s shoulders to pull him close._

“ _Positive. All this car needs is some elbow grease, modifications, and a sugar daddy,” he stated confidently. When Stan didn’t respond, he added, “That’s me. I’m the sugar daddy-”_

“ _No, yeah, I gather,” Stan huffed. The mechanic returned from his office, smiling at the check Eddie wrote for the keys. He spit his chewing tobacco off to the side, shaking Eddie’s hand firmly._

“ _I’ll have it towed out this weekend. Now I wanna remind you, this baby won’t get by on the tiddlywinks of gas, or the phone chargers you kids like to use these days with your newer models,” he warned, his voice thick with phlegm. Hacking out another viscous wad of spit, he swiped the back of his free hand across his nose. Eddie exchanged a look with Stan, both of them ready to leave._

“ _Thanks, I know. My dad has- sorry, had- um, a little model of this car. It would mean a lot for me to have it,” he said. The mechanic shrugged and nodded, allowing them to take their leave._

Eddie connected his phone to the new stereo he installed — a painstaking labor of love — and hit play on his music. His toolbox lied open beside him as he rummaged for the correct wrench. Settling on a pair of pliers for the initial job of loosening bolts, he tugged protective gloves snugly over his hands. It didn’t take long to free the battery, which he cautiously carried over to the workbench. Replacing it wasn’t a priority, but he wanted to take care of the more tedious tasks before spending time on what he truly wanted to do. Either way, he would finish everything before class. He couldn't wait any longer to drive his new baby.

Finishing everything under the hood, he beamed at the stack of tires in the corner of his garage. Running his fingertips along the white walls, he giddily rolled the first one back to his Chevy. Crouching, he bobbed his head to the beat of the song while he worked. As soon as the tires were changed, his new car would be ready for cruising.

Just in time for his first day of college.

_(cause you make me feel like)_

“I could be driving you all night,” Eddie crooned into the torque wrench, shimmying his shoulders to one side before bringing his body back around. The music boomed from his radio, uncaring of any neighbors (which there were none of) or houseguests (who also didn’t care).

Once the last tire was on, he eagerly leapt to his feet and slid into the driver seat. Key in the ignition, he said a small prayer in his head before turning it. Roaring to life, the car hummed effortlessly beneath him, sending satisfying vibrations up his spine. Triumphant, he cut the engine, clapping his hands and throwing his arms up.

_(take me to the feeling)_

“I’ll be your sinner in secret,” he shouted rather than sang. Eddie pumped his fists in the air, dancing in a circle once he was out of the vehicle. He hopped from one foot to the other, shaking his shoulders forward, then pulling them back rhythmically. Whirling around, he opened his eyes and- “AH!” His wrench clattered on the concrete floor. The song faded into silence, and he cleared his throat, turning the volume down. Patty watched him, smirking.

“Breakfast is ready,” she said in her overly pleasant, sing-song voice. She stifled laughter while Eddie rolled his eyes. Following her back into the house, he breathed in the pleasant scents of cinnamon and sausages. The crackle of the grease filled the kitchen, rivaled only by the low murmur of local news in the living room. Patty cut off the tv, returning just as Eddie swiped the first pancake. He tore it into manageable pieces, eating bit by bit and skimming the newspaper Stan left open.

“It's great to have you back, Eddie, but I can't promise breakfast will be an everyday thing,” Stan joked, scooping the scrambled eggs onto a plate. Eagerly, Patty dug in, serving herself a little bit of everything. Eddie nodded, but his attention was elsewhere. He stared at the refrigerator, which had been undecorated until now. A photostrip hung underneath a cheap magnet reading “Welcome to Derry!” in red block lettering. It looked more terrifying than inviting, but that was what he and Stan liked about the souvenir.

Smiling, Eddie took the pictures down, running his thumb over the smooth film. He remembered taking the photos; Bill threw a goodbye party for Eddie. The three of them spent the entire day together, from morning to late evening, when Sonia nearly set the cops out searching for her son. Stan and Bill were there bright and early the next day to wave him off, chasing the car as Eddie was driven away from the only friends he ever knew.

His copy of the photostrip sat in his journal upstairs; he used it as a bookmark, keeping it close at all times through the past decade.

“It's good to _be_ back, Stanley,” Eddie whispered, hanging the strip back on the fridge. He whirled around, a fresh skip in his step. “Is Bill still in town? I haven't heard from him in a while.” A new expression crossed Stan's face, which Eddie didn't fail to notice. Sipping his coffee, he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Patty continued to eat as she watched them, consistently amused by their interactions.

She met Eddie upon his return to Derry, proudly introducing herself as Stan's girlfriend. Eddie never considered his friends interacting with anyone outside of their group, and was definitely surprised to find Stan had game. Of course, after knowing Patty for a few hours, he quickly began to adore her as well. She worked with both of them, like a missing puzzle piece they never realized they lost.

“Well...” Stan began, rubbing the back of his neck. “He is and isn't. I lost touch with him... months ago, I guess. It's hard to say. He travels a lot for work, so I never know when he's home or _if_ he actually lives here. He's kind of obsessed with his, uh, _job_.” The inflection piqued Eddie's interest, but as he opened his mouth to ask, his phone buzzed. The words “class - half hour warning” displayed onscreen in all capital letters – a note he left for himself to avoid being late. Before he could leave, however, Stan grabbed his wrist. “Are you sure it's okay we're here?” His tone was different, and Eddie laughed, almost nervously.

“Of course! What, are you scared Sonia's gonna haunt the place?” he teased, dodging what Stan surely must’ve been getting at. “She didn't even die in the house. She had a heart attack on the front lawn.” Patty immediately dropped her fork, scrambling to grab her camera from the other side of the island counter. She glided across the floor in her thick wooly socks, sprinting outside to snap a picture of the ground.

Stan stared after her, his shoulders slumped. He loved her – Eddie could see that clearly. As different as they were and continued to be, she kept Stan on his toes.

When he first arrived in Derry (once the initial viewing of Sonia's body was over), Eddie wandered mindlessly until he wound up on Stan's old street. He stood outside the Uris house, not realizing it still belonged to them. Stan and Patty were visiting his parents for lunch, and the moment he stepped onto the porch, both he and Eddie were frozen at the sight of each other.

“ _Eddie Kaspbrak!” Stan shouted, running across the lawn with his arms open. A smile broke out across Eddie's face; he happily accepted the hug, rubbing Stan's back. “How are you- what brings you back to Derry? How long's it been? Going on ten years, right? Oh, man, you gotta meet Pat- Patty! Babe, come here!” He tripped over his words, too eager to be contained. Not everyone was lucky enough to see him like this; Eddie remembered all too well how collected Stan kept himself for strangers. He couldn't be shaken._

“ _It's great to see you, Stan. I needed a familiar face,” he said, the corners of his mouth tugging upward._

It wasn't until Mrs. Uris came out and offered her condolences did Stan realize why Eddie returned. The color drained from his face, and although Eddie felt bad for laughing, he desperately needed to. He took Stan out for coffee, catching up on the last ten years of his life.

Derry opened a community college, and Stan met Patricia Blum in his evening gender studies class. Eddie asked where Stan was living, and he told him that he never moved out. The plan was to find a place after graduation, but Eddie suggested he bump up the date.

“ _Come stay with me. I have this whole house to myself and I hate it. We always dreamed of living together; me, you, and Billy. Why not?”_

And so here they were.

Roommates in a creepy old house that desperately cried for an interior decorator.

Eddie considered taking classes for such a job, suddenly having the freedom and means to do whatever he pleased. He already spent the last two years completing his core classes in New York; his inheritance gave him wiggle room to goof off and enjoy learning. With the semester so close on the horizon, he settled for anything interesting and available.

Before heading to the stairs, Eddie squeezed Stan's shoulder and said, “It's fine, Stanley. I'm happy you're here.” He sprinted to his room, showering as rapidly as he could. Little thought went into his outfit, as he was too ecstatic to drive his car. Swiping his keys from the bed, he ran outside before his hair even had a chance to dry.

The moment he started the vehicle, he peeled out of the garage, not bothering to check for oncoming traffic. Derry was normally dead at this hour, and his “neighborhood” was dead _period_. However, the downtown area of Derry was apparently a different story. There were significantly more people in town than he remembered, and Eddie huffed, exasperated to see none of the new citizens could drive. A growl rose in his throat when a car abruptly cut him off, speeding across two lanes to turn left on Main Street.

“AWESOME TURN SIGNAL, ASSHOLE!” he screamed, punching his palm on the horn. Eddie was a phenomenal driver; he knew as much. In New York, he weaved through traffic effortlessly. He memorized all the shortcuts, and never got lost – even if he had never explored that part of the city. Eddie prided himself in his natural navigational abilities; it was unfortunate he didn’t need them in Derry.

Turning up the volume on his stereo, he shared the voice of Paris Hilton with neighboring drivers. Eddie sang along to the music, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel while waiting for the red lights to turn green. He expected as little from the day as he did from the town, although Derry made great strides to become a livelier place. Instead of dilapidated buildings, Eddie drove past fresh coats of paint on stores he didn't recognize.

Stan informed him that with the new college, and an influx of students, a new life was breathed into Derry, Maine.

“And yet none of the newbies can _fucking drive!_ ” Eddie hissed, rolling his eyes as he finally turned into the parking lot of Derry Community College. He found a spot close enough to the entrance, cutting the engine and stepping out. All he carried with him was a satchel full of notebooks and spare pens; he planned on making note of what he would need for the future.

Although he was used to keeping his head down, he stopped dead in his tracks when someone across the courtyard caught his eye.

_Holy shit,_ he thought, watching the stranger walk through the grass rather than use the mostly empty sidewalk. Eddie stared, unaware he hadn’t stopped moving. His feet carried him aimlessly as he gawked. The young man, almost half a football field away, frowned. His brow furrowed as he paused, but he swiftly shook his head and kept going, as if the minor misstep didn't happen. His dark, messy hair swooped in front of his eyes, but he made no effort to brush it back. His thick, square glasses kept the curls from obscuring his view.

Eddie's mind was blank, save for the image of the stranger – the _beautiful_ stranger, if you asked him – and he couldn’t help but compare and contrast their outfits. In all honesty, they would’ve made the perfect college couple; he wore all black, while Eddie was in much softer, autumn colors. Black band tee, black jeans, black boots. It highlighted how pale the poor guy was; Eddie doubted he saw the sun which existed outside Derry. The stranger made the perfect punk to rival Eddie's...

He frowned, unsure of what to label himself. This struggle started long before Sonia died, but only now was he able to properly address it without any backlash-

“AH!”

Crashing into a tree, Eddie fell hard on his back.

For fuck's sake, he wasn't even riding a bike – he was just _walking_. Lying on the ground, he stared at the grey sky. Students walked past him, paying no mind. Then — just as Eddie was coming down from embarrassment, certain that no one would draw attention to his idiocy — a face came into view, and it was a much different face from the one that distracted him.

“You okay?” The man helping Eddie to his feet was significantly taller, and Eddie's heart skipped a beat. He had a flat top haircut, and his facial hair was shaved into a goatee. Eddie stared at him with his mouth slightly agape. This guy looked _good_.

“Huh? Yeah, I'm great,” he said, a smile stretching across his face. “Thank you, uh..?”

“Mike,” the man replied, holding out his hand. He shook Eddie's, his grip strong and warm. “And you are?”

“Eddie.”

“Good to meet you, Eddie. I hate to cut this short, but I'm late for class-”

“Oh, fuck – sorry – so am I!” Offering a polite smile, Eddie checked his schedule and began speed-walking again. After a few feet, both he and Mike realized they were going towards the same building. Forcing a laugh, sounding equally as awkward as he felt, Eddie motioned to the paper in his hands. “I signed up for a class on the history of this town-”

“History of Derry; a walk through the beginning of Derry's township, highlighting the struggles, successes, and future of a former beaver trapping camp,” Mike recited. His mouth curved up, and he revealed his own schedule in hand. “I'm taking it too. Small world- or, well, small _town_.” Eddie snickered, nodding in agreement.

“Tell me about it,” he mumbled. He only spent most of his childhood longing to escape — nobody could explain why he chose to come back and plant his roots here. Mike studied him carefully, holding open the door when they reached the building.

“You're not from here... _are_ you?” he asked, his head tilted. Eddie nodded, his mouth twisting and his expression jokingly solemn. Mike wasn’t asking in a way that made Eddie feel like a silly tourist; he sounded genuinely confused. “I've lived here my whole life, so usually I can pick out the newcomers.” Eddie shrugged, offering a half-hearted smile.

“I moved away when I was about ten. I came back after some family passed away,” he explained. Mike's brow rose and at once, Eddie knew he heard.

“The lady that died at the haunted house?!” His voice went up an octave, and a few people around them stopped dead in their tracks to watch. Fortunately, Eddie ducked inside the classroom before they could approach. There were a dozen students, and the space was _just_ large enough to host them. Their teacher was nowhere in sight, leaving the desk at the front of the room empty. “Sorry, I- I'm real sorry for the loss. Who was she?”

Eddie tried to answer as casually as possible when he said, “My mother.” The change in Mike's expression told him he wasn't as blasé as he wanted to be. “We weren't exactly close- I imagine all the good people of Derry have jokes about her taking a fall down the front steps, but I haven't heard. It's fine if you know any. Like I said: not close.” Clearing his throat, Eddie pulled out his phone, pretending to scroll through his messages. He had a total of zero, because he only actively texted two people. “I'm living at that haunted house now though. Does everyone really think it's... I mean, why?” He questioned the logic, but he understood perfectly.

Both of his parents died in the house on Neibolt Street. Back in 2010 – only a couple months into the year, and shortly after Frank's death – his place was the only one completed on the block. Since then, other properties came into development, but as far as he could tell: no buyers.

“Have you _seen_ the house?” Mike questioned, one brow cocked. He didn't wait for a response. Clicking his tongue, he continued, “My grandfather told me that particular street is the source of all evil in this town. He thought it was cursed, and maybe it is. There's a rumor that a child molester lived just two lots away from yours. He abducted and killed dozens of little kids during the summer of 1958. Finally, all the adults took matters into their own hands and set his house on fi-”

“This is the plot of Nightmare on Elm Street,” Eddie interrupted, his tone flat and unamused. Mike grinned, snickering as he sat up straighter.

“Alright, you got me,” he admitted, holding up his hands in surrender. “But there _are_ stories about this town. Things that go covered up, but don't quite _stay_ buried. I love this town; I love the history. That's why I'm taking this class.” There was pride in his expression; he meant what he said.

“Seriously? This town was always so lame... I mean, I don't remember anything interesting,” Eddie said doubtfully. Tapping his chin, his mouth twisted into a pout as he attempted to conjure up any sort of memory regarding Derry's history. “I heard about the weird cannibal who dressed like a clown and lived in the sewers. Is that what you mean?” Mike's expression changed to one Eddie couldn't read.

“You lived here _how long_ , and you don't know about-” He leaned in, lowering his voice considerably. Eddie couldn’t resist copying him. Mike had an eager, brilliant smile across his whole face, and Eddie admired it thoughtfully. He supposed he could fall in love with that face, if given the chance. “-the vampires?”

_Damn._

_Never mind._

Rolling his eyes, Eddie turned away from Mike.

“Ha ha, very funny-”

“No, wait-” Grabbing Eddie's shoulder, Mike gave him a gentle squeeze. “I'm sorry. Listen, people in this town talk. That's one of the stories, and you're bound the hear it eventually. They think your house is the perfect camp for bloodsuckers and ghouls. Like, maybe your mom got attacked by one.” His tone was sincere, and his eyes were too warm for Eddie to stay mad at. He wasn't all that mad to begin with.

While he didn't believe in ghost stories anymore (or... ever), he appreciated the thrill of them – and Mike was good at building suspense.

“Thanks for the warning, I guess,” Eddie mumbled. He cast his eyes down to the floor; he wasn’t sure what more to say, but thankfully, Mike took care of that for him.

“I lost my dad to cancer, about a year ago,” he said. Only then did he remove his hand, and his earnest, well-meaning expression made Eddie smile again.

“My dad died of cancer too,” he confessed. Mike made a face, his brow furrowing.

“Damn, guy. You can't let me empathize? You have to one up me with _two_ dead parents?” he joked, mocking offense. Eddie laughed, covering his mouth when everyone looked over. Offering a tiny smile, Mike nodded to him as the teacher finally stepped in and greeted her new students.

As Eddie expected, it was nothing wildly interesting. Within the first five minutes, his daydreaming transported him elsewhere. His imagination had always been captivating, keeping him deep in the recesses of his mind when he didn't want to be in a situation. He ran there often when Sonia was his sole caretaker; he found life easier to live in his fantasy world until she stopped speaking. In the beginning, his behavior alarmed her. She thought he was suffering from head trauma. After two trips to a therapist, she was accused of abusing him in some form, and she quickly put an end to the visits. She decided Eddie's “going away” was perfectly normal for a child.

A fire alarm could blare in his ear, and he would still respond a second too late, if he was far enough in his own mind.

Today, he had plenty of fuel.

Eddie rested his chin in his palms, thinking about Derry. His old Twilight posters resurfaced in his mind, and he silently laughed at the idea of Jacob Black running amok in his little town.

_Forget werewolves. Who was the vampire- Laurent! I liked him too,_ Eddie thought, fantasizing about Mike as a rugged, shirtless vampire. Derry would be the perfect place for them to hide; he couldn’t recall seeing the sun more than two days in a row here. When he was a child, filling all his spare time with the Twilight movies and fanfiction, he believed Derry was the ideal setting for his own supernatural love story.

He was lost for a while, until a loud rattling yanked him away from his fantasies. The classroom was silent, save for the teachers’ lecture. Then Eddie heard it again. The noise was unmistakable: a pill bottle. Looking around, he nearly gasped when he saw the pale boy from earlier. His hair was messier up close, and from where Eddie sat, he could see over his shoulder. He tapped two small, blue aspirins from a travel-sized bottle, popping them in his mouth to swallow dry.

If he felt Eddie's eyes on him, he made it known then, peering over his shoulder.

Gulping, Eddie quickly averted his gaze.

Class was dismissed soon enough. Gathering his belongings, Eddie bumped into Mike as they descend the narrow aisle.

“We should hang out sometime; I can reacquaint you with Derry,” he offered, his bright smile stopping Eddie in his tracks. His heart fluttered, and he forgot how to form words. He had never been asked out before – he didn't know how to respond. “I think you'd really like my boyfriend.”

_**FUCK!** _

Behind him, the pale – and now as Eddie stood beside him, _also_ tall – stranger coughed loudly. Eddie jumped, and as grateful as he was for the distraction, he was growing annoyed at how short of an adult he turned out to be. Both of his parents were of average height, but nearly every cute guy he was running into was a goddamn lumberjack. Regardless of the fact he had only met two of these giants, that was still enough for him to complain. Clearing his throat, he nodded to Mike.

“Sounds like a plan. I'll text you once I get home,” he replied, passing his phone over. Mike programmed his information in, handing it back and waving as they parted ways. Once he was out of view, Eddie looked at the number, his mouth twitching up into a smile. The euphoria was short-lived, however.

As he walked along the courtyard, Eddie couldn’t stop his mind from replaying his embarrassment on loop. First, he ate shit in the parking lot. Then, he became a fumbling mess over a guy who wasn’t even single. He hoped his face didn’t give anything away, but Stan always told him he was like a coloring book. Even a _child_ could read him.

Sighing, Eddie found his car, slamming the door shut as he slumped into the driver seat. His desired art class didn't have enough spots for him to fit, but someone he spoke to in the admissions office advised him to check after the first week. If he didn't have to continue with the history of Derry, he wouldn't mind. His eyes were on an afternoon photography course.

Since he had the liberty, he wanted to flex as many learning muscles as he could – but only in classes that interested him.

Driving through Derry, once again noticing differences from his memory, he wondered how much it would cost to remodel his house. Although the scary mansion vibe worked for him, he wouldn't have minded a more modern interior. The furniture reeked of dust, and the wallpaper was an eyesore – all of which were his mothers’ choices. Eddie smiled at the idea of tearing down walls and installing carpet. The kitchen was the only room he didn't want to change. Yet, anyways.

_Definitely no more Twilight stuff,_ he thought, giggling to himself. His obsession was one of the few things Sonia couldn't control or outright ban, since she was a fan as well. It served as a fond memory in that sole regard, but he cringed away from almost everything else.

Parking his car safely in the garage, he whistled as he walked inside, taking the stairs two at a time. In the comfort of his room, after dropping his satchel, Eddie stared at his desk. An old laptop sat in the corner, caked in dust. Sonia promised to buy him a newer model when they moved to New York, which (much to his surprise) she did. He bit his lip, chewing off skin.

_You could read old stuff to get this out of your system,_ he bargained with himself, his gaze drifting down to the crumpled poster in the waste bin. He knew there was a rise in popularity for the moody vampires these days, but he was also aware that he couldn’t like anything casually. If there was one thing he'd admit he got from Sonia Kaspbrak, it was her obsessiveness.

Eddie Kaspbrak dove into his interests the same way he could drown in his thoughts. It was all or nothing for him, and usually he didn't mind. Of course, obsessions didn’t constitute a complete personality, and he wanted to work on that while in Derry. If he went back to New York, or if he flew across the country to San Francisco, he wanted to leave better than how he arrived.

Lying on his bed, he closed his eyes for only a few minutes before his thoughts carried him to sleep.

_He_ _was_ _dreaming now._

_He_ _was_ _sure of it._

_Mostly._

_Eddie t_ _ook_ _a breath, and it fe_ _lt_ _right enough. Maybe he_ _wasn’t_ _dreaming. At the very least, he_ _was_ _familiar with the surroundings. The hallway – one he walked through countless times as a child – expand_ _ed_ _, his shadow lengthening and thinning until it reache_ _d_ _the darkness behind him._

_There_ _was_ _darkness all around him, and as soon as he realize_ _d_ _it, he_ _was_ _afraid._

“ _Eddiebear, it's gonna be okay! It's all gonna be okay!”_

“ _Mommy?”_

_His voice_ _was lighter. Childlike._

_Hearing a creak on the steps behind him, he los_ _t_ _his breath and beg_ _an_ _to run. As fast as he pushe_ _d_ _his legs, the door stay_ _ed_ _the same distance away from him. Eddie reache_ _d_ _out his hand in a desperate attempt to grab the_ _handle_ _. Sonia's voice echoe_ _d_ _louder from the darkness. He kn_ _ew_ _his daddy_ _was_ _behind door number one! That_ _was_ _the one he want_ _ed_ _! Open the damn door!_

_There_ _was_ _another loud protest from the old wood, this time in front of him. The bedroom door open_ _ed_ _, but the light_ _was_ _too bright for him to see inside._

“ _Daddy?” His heartbeat beg_ _an_ _to relax._

_Until a dark figure with blood red eyes step_ _ped_ _into view._

_Their shadow_ _lunged_ _towards him, moving without its' host. Eddie scream_ _ed_ _and scramble_ _d_ _backwards, falling on his bottom. The shadow stop_ _ped_ _, and the figure tilt_ _ed_ _their head. His eyes adjusted and he want_ _ed_ _to scream, because th_ _e dark figure was_ _a little girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes_ _turned white,_ _casting the blinding light from before – the red was in her hair now._

_Oh, God, it_ _was_ _on fire!_

_He open_ _ed_ _his mouth to scream again-_

“EDDIE! EDDIE, OPEN UP!”

Falling out of his bed, Eddie hit the floor with a hard _thump_. The sun moved in the sky, but he couldn’t tell the time. Midday, if he had to guess.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, hurrying from his room to the front door. Whoever woke him up was clearly relentless. They hadn’t stopped pounding on the door. Huffing, he ran a hand through his hair, which now stuck up at a bizarre angle from being slept on wrong.

“Can I help you?” he blurted, yanking the door open. His eyes widened in shock when he came face to face with Bill Denbrough.

He was too surprised to say anything when Bill marched past him, straight into the house. It was definitely Bill though – Eddie recognized those wild blue eyes, the unkempt hair, and the scrawniness. He used to be attracted to Bill, and he supposed he still could be. He would have definitely liked him more if he hadn't interrupted a perfectly good nap.

“Eddie – I know this sounds crazy, but you have to believe me,” he nearly shouted, his eyes darting around as if expecting to find something. His arms were raised, almost defensively. “I have a lead on the whereabouts of a vampire, and I think your moms' death is the key to finding them.”


	3. Flirting or Not? A Comprehensive Guide to Not Knowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! If you were with me the last time I posted this chapter, you might notice some big changes. This is part of the reason I scrapped the last version. I wrote the storyline in the wrong direction, and I wanted to fix it and make it better! I hope you enjoy!

Eddie knew he was wrong to laugh.

Sonia would dismissively chuckle at his interests, if she deemed them too dangerous or flamboyant.

This wasn’t him dismissing Bill though... not entirely.

Covering his mouth, he snorted, struggling to keep himself contained. Bill’s frantic eyes became tired; his shoulders slumped. Eddie couldn’t control it then — he laughed harder, his arms wrapped around his sides as he wheezed. Directly above them, Eddie heard Stan’s footsteps as he rushed down the hall. He stopped at the first floor landing, peering over the rail to see Bill. His eyes widened, and he smiled, but it faltered when he noticed Bill’s expression.

“What’s going on?” he asked, cautious as he joined them. Eddie shut his mouth, looking from one friend to the other. Leaning against the front door, closing it with his weight, he cleared his throat and motioned to the couch. In his younger years, when he first left his friends, he liked to imagine their reunion. Hope kept him going back then; he never believed that Stan and Bill were gone from his life forever.

“Bill’s here! He, um-” Avoiding Stan’s gaze, Eddie perched on the armrest of his dad’s old recliner. “Bill, it’s really good to see you. How’ve you been? I asked Stan about you, when I first got back. We’re living here now! Remember how we planned that back in the day?” His mouth ran with any thought he could fetch, hoping to dispel the awkwardness settling over them. Suddenly, he understood why Stan was so hesitant this morning.

If Bill was serious...

But of course, he couldn’t be.

Eddie swallowed thickly, wishing one of his friends would say anything. Instead, they both stared at him, as if in mutual agreement _he_ should keep talking.

_Because_ _ **yes**_ _, Eddie, you’re doing such a good job,_ he thought, chewing his bottom lip. Clicking his tongue, he decided to approach the situation with good old-fashioned humor. They used to always crack each other up; he relaxed, thinking Stan and Bill were pulling his leg.

“Aside from the addition of my dead mom — that was shockingly mean, for you, Bill — I thought the whole vampire thing was pretty funny. I’m totally over my Twilight phase though. I really hate that _that’s_ what I left you guys with,” Eddie said, laughing nervously. He _hoped_ this was all a joke. After all, he left town during the height of his embarrassing obsession. New Moon had just come out. His dad died. He was in need of an escape.

Could ten-year-old Eddie really be blamed?

Twenty-year-old Eddie didn’t think so.

Their expressions didn’t change, effectively fighting off any ease he started to slip into.

What bothered him the most though, was what his classmate said earlier about vampires. If he learned anything from his mother, it was how to make a mountain of a mole hill. His eyes darted from Stan to Bill; he couldn’t help but wonder if they knew Mike Hanlon. Derry was too small of a town, and Mike seemed outgoing enough to chat up everyone — the odds were fair that they had spoken before. If this was a giant ruse, the pieces all fit. His friends knew him well enough, and maybe they wanted to playfully haze him to celebrate his return.

It would’ve been funny, if only Bill didn’t look so severely unhinged.

“Eddie, I know this sounds crazy. I know,” Bill said, his voice low. Stan’s frown deepened as he crossed his arms. His impatience began to show. “You have to believe me. We made fun of you when we were kids, but it’s real. It’s all real. Blood drinking monsters exist.”

_Oh God, he’s serious._

Eddie’s eyes darted to Stan, silently pleading for a lifeline. He didn’t want any part of this prank, and if it wasn’t a prank, he didn’t want to see Bill this insane.

“Yeah, buddy, they’re called mosquitoes,” he teased. Like most of his jokes, it didn’t land. Stan covered his eyes with one hand, and Bill’s hopefulness faded into exhaustion. “Sorry-” His apology barely made it out before Bill gripped his shoulders. He clutched Eddie tightly, staring into his eyes with an intensity that was far greater than what Eddie remembered. He always admired Bill growing up; he wanted to be like him. Tearing his gaze away, Eddie sighed.

“It _is_ good to see you, Eddie,” Bill confessed finally, clearly defeated. Removing his hands, he shoved them into his pockets. “I'm sorry for barging in like this- Can you- Is...” He bit his lip, and Eddie almost reached out to touch his shoulder. He considered inviting him for dinner; he could smell bread in the oven. For a moment, he pictured them seated around the island counter, eating and laughing like old times. “Is there anything strange about your mom's death that you could tell me? Something the cops found? Something in her system?” Disappointment seeped into his eyes, and the corners of his mouth dragged down.

“No, Bill. She was just old. And unhealthy. She had a heart attack and fell off the front porch,” he stated. The more he said it, the easier those words came. He didn't feel more than a slight sting – something like stubbing his toe. Thinking of himself as an orphan hurt more than the knowledge his mother had died.

“Why don't you stay for dinner?” Stan offered, interrupting Eddie's thoughts. He wanted to smile, but Bill was already shaking his head, seeing himself out.

“I gotta run. Maybe next time; thank you though,” he mumbled. The door shut swiftly behind him; he was out of sight before Eddie could think to insist on him staying. He listened to the floorboards creaking as Bill stepped over them, but once he was on solid dirt, Eddie heard nothing more. Bill was gone. Eddie stared without blinking – as if Bill would reappear and laugh everything off – and didn't make a sound. Stan left for the kitchen, allowing Eddie his space.

The scent of bread filled the house. Eddie wanted to fetch a piece, but his eyes wouldn’t rip away from where Bill stood. Although his thoughts were wildly jumbled in his brain, he knew the questions he wanted to ask. Sighing, his shoulders slumped and he joined Stan at the island counter. A pan of garlic bread rested on the stove; Stan already set out two plates for himself and Eddie. He tore his slice into small strips, his mind elsewhere.

“What _happened_ to him?” Eddie asked after a long minute of silence, his brow knitting in confusion. He tried to hold out on hope they would say “ _sike_ ,” but the moment never came. Deep down, he supposed he knew better. Stan chewed his bread slowly, each crunch quieter than the last. Grabbing lemonade from the fridge, he poured two glasses, sliding Eddie’s over.

“You remember his little brother, Georgie, right?” Stan asked, his eyes downcast. A couple of curls fell over his forehead, and he didn’t brush them away. Eddie’s knee began to bounce; he reached over to fix Stan’s hair for him. “He died, Eddie.” There wasn’t enough time for him to react. Eddie’s gasp caught in his throat, and he choked while Stan continued to bulldoze through the news. “Bill doesn’t like to talk about it. Or admit — I mean, a body was never found, but it’s been years. Everyone... gave up. Even his parents left town.” Eddie’s eyes were saucers.

His lemonade was steady in his hand, but he forgot how to drink. All he could think about was Bill being abandoned — emotionally and literally. Eddie could see a smaller version of his best friend chasing his car as he was driven away from Derry, but then the image faded into a somewhat taller Bill, lost and forlorn as his parents sped off. A pain seared through his chest, although not from the pictures in his imagination. He thought of his mother, and how _her_ grief drove her insane.

_Not Bill. That couldn’t be Bill._

“But Stanley... vampires?” Eddie grasped at straws to shut his thoughts up. His eyes were pleading, and Stan didn’t miss his cue to go on. He was always the perfect friend that way; he knew exactly what Eddie and Bill needed without them ever having to openly say it.

“Billy went through all the stages. Grief, anger, bargaining... Hell, he even accepted it for a couple weeks. Then he doubled back and stopped on denial,” Stan explained, rubbing his temples as he remembered more detail. Shaking his head, he huffed, annoyed. “The whole vampire thing came from old Derry folklore. It wasn’t too popular when we were kids, but the need for nostalgic shit brought all that back.” He busied himself with boiling water for pasta, but whipped around, lifting his hand. His mouth opened and Eddie knew perfectly well he wasn’t done complaining. “Since... junior year? Four years ago? I can’t stand it- especially now, with Bill-” Sighing, his shoulders slumped.

Now it was Eddie’s turn to look away.

While he was in New York, forming meaningless, half-assed friendships to fill his time, Bill was suffering. They could’ve grieved together, helping each other through the worst periods of their lives. Eddie would have lamented about how unfair life was — how much he missed his father every single day. In return, Bill could have expressed any rightful anger towards his parents. Neither of them would have to feel like strangers.

Eddie popped a small piece of bread into his mouth, chewing slowly and thinking about the rough texture between his teeth. Then the garlic hit his tongue and he failed to hold back a smile. Stan’s brow rose, and he watched Eddie expectantly. Waving the bread in front of Stan, he giggled more freely. The second best thing about his friend was how easily they could diffuse a bad situation together. Eddie was never sad for long — not if Stan and Bill were around.

“At least we know _we’re_ not vampires,” he joked. Stan tried to fight his smile, but he also couldn’t resist.

By the time Patty emerged from their room, part of her hair sticking out awkwardly, Stan was clutching his sides and wheezing with Eddie. Using the joke as a vehicle of catharsis, neither of them felt guilty carrying on with dinner, as if Bill’s visit happened in another life.

For now, at least.

* * *

On the way to school, Eddie turned his stereo up as loud as he legally could.

Britney’s greatest hits dominated his queue, and he wished he had more friends attending classes with him. Sing-alongs were only as entertaining as the people participating.

_(I must confess, I still believe)_

Eddie mouthed the words, tapping his fingers on the wheel. People glanced at him as they walked across campus, and he kept a shameless grin on his face for all of them. Searching for parking, he begrudgingly lowered his music. After a couple minutes, he finally found a spot. As he pulled in, he noticed the guy from his history class.

Not Mike, but the weirdly tall and lanky ghost. His skin practically glowed in Derry’s overcast, as if to spite the lack of sunlight.

He reminded Eddie of a less creepy Edward Scissorhands. Without the scissors for hands, of course.

And with eyebrows.

And not totally ugly. Kind of cute, actually. An adult version of Wednesday Addams would have been a better comparison, but with the wild Scissorhands hair.

And... he stared right at Eddie.

_Oh, duh, the music,_ he thought, reaching for the volume knob. He froze though, realizing his music was only at a low hum. _Maybe he likes my car- OH GOD!_

Gripping the wheel tightly, Eddie grit his teeth and shut his eyes. The car jerked beneath him as it rolled back, off of the concrete bumper. People around him laughed, and even if they walked away fast, his face burned. His forehead rested against the wheel, and he refused to look up for several minutes. He didn’t necessarily have a class to get to; his goal for the day was swapping courses.

_Drawing, painting, photography. Drawing, painting, photography._ Eddie repeated the thoughts on a loop as he fumbled with his keys and locked the car. Most of the crowd he saw upon arriving was gone, either off to class or the campus cafe. Breathing a sigh of relief, he briskly cut through the courtyard towards the administration office.

Reaching out for the door, his knuckles collided with another hand.

“Oh, sorry-” His voice died instantly in his throat. The Edward Scissorhands look-alike smiled down at him, holding the door open. “Thanks!” He returned the smile, walking backwards to maintain eye contact. Bumping into a reception desk, nearly hitting his head on a hanging plant, Eddie was abruptly whisked to the side.

“You’re awful clumsy...?” Mr. Scissorhands was asking for a name, but momentarily, Eddie forgot. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a bigger grin. “I’m Richie.”

_Ew, his name is cute too!_

Richie clicked his tongue to disguise his laugh, but Eddie heard regardless. His mouth twisted into a pout, and he glanced towards the receptionist.

Of course she wasn’t there.

“I’m uh, Eddie,” he replied. Meeting Richie’s gaze, his breath caught again. His eyes were... intense, for lack of a better word. He stared at Eddie as though there was nothing else in the world to see, and Eddie felt the flush spreading through his cheeks and down his neck. Clearing his throat, he managed to rip his own gaze away. His legs felt weak as he walked over to another office, and for the first time since arriving in Derry, his thoughts were completely muddled.

Not a single fragment of his imagination broke through the fog.

“Ah, Mr. Kaspbrak! I’m glad you’re here. I have updates on nearly all the rosters, if you wanna tell me which classes you’ve decided on,” a voice called, clearing a bit of the haze. Casting one last smile over his shoulder, Eddie closed the door behind him and took a seat in the office.

With Richie out of sight, focusing became significantly easier.

Across from him was a portly woman named Myra Torrance. She didn’t appear too much older than him, nor did she sound that way over the phone. Her expression was shy and well-meaning; she looked eager to please. He nodded politely to her, relieved she wasn’t another hot guy. Sighing, his shoulders slumping as he relaxed, he shook off the last of his nerves and leaned closer as she turned the computer monitor.

From all the classes on display, he stuck with his original choices, adding a dancing class in lieu of the current Derry history hour. Thinking of Mike, he wished there were other courses they shared, but they could always hang out elsewhere.

Once the classes were finalized, Ms. Torrance printed his updated schedule.

“I’ll need the remainder of the week to finalize this, but starting Monday, that’s your schedule,” she said. Eddie nodded, beaming as he tucked the paper away. Myra removed her glasses, wiping them with a grey cloth. “Until then, you can still participate in the history course, if you’d like.” Her confidence dwindled through the last few words as she realized there would be little point. Eddie couldn’t help but feel bad for her — in a way, her bumbling reminded him of Sonia.

“Thanks, I’ll definitely take advantage!” he exclaimed, hoping to alleviate her self-doubt. Waving goodbye, he left the office and headed straight for class. Even if he could’ve lied to the woman, he was compelled to finish the rest of his week studying Derry’s history. Perhaps the draw of Mike and Richie outweighed his desire to stay home. He suddenly had too much free time; spending a bit with two handsome guys wasn’t the worst thing he could’ve done.

Although everyone had chosen a seat by the time Eddie arrived to class, plenty of empty spots remained. Much to his disappointment, however, he saw a bubbly blonde girl beside Richie. He paid little attention to her, seemingly more interested in his book.

Giving his best attempt at subtlety, Eddie immediately failed as he needed to squint to read the title.

_The Complete Idiot's Guide to Vampires_.

Considering the smirk Richie wore, Eddie would've thought he was reading a comedy.

"You can borrow it when I'm done, if you want," Richie called out, waiting for Eddie to pass him completely. Freezing, Eddie whipped around and held up his hand.

"Thanks, but- I'm fine, thank you," he said, fumbling over his words. Chuckling, Richie shrugged indifferently and resumed reading. Biting the inside of his cheek, Eddie cursed himself -- colorful language his mother would've killed him for learning and using.

_She would've died to stop me from being exposed to all that_ , he thought. Midway into his seat, another thought attacked him, and his face twisted in disgust. _She died and that changed nothing._

Forcing the images of her embalmed body from his mind, he stared ahead at his professor. She wrote topics on the chalkboard, dusting her hand on her khaki pants and leaving a stain. Either she wasn't aware, or she didn't care. Again, his mother's voice and image were attacking his headspace – she would've said something rude to this poor woman.

Sighing, Eddie tried to clear his mind.

One of his biggest fears was Sonia's thoughts becoming his own. He was terrified of the moments where he couldn't tell if he was being rude, or if the ghost of his mother shouted from the recesses of his mind where he kept her. After so many years without Sonia, he hoped her stranglehold on him would go away.

He licked his lips, jumping to the next idea he could come up with.

While his professor dove into her lecture about the first residents of Derry, he considered what type of wood to use for the flooring of his house. Cherry wood looked the prettiest, and he supposed the red wouldn't clash too much with the black and silver theme he wanted in the kitchen. He already picked out new granite countertops, and a dark brick wallpaper to bring in a cozy illusion. His goal was to somehow balance modern and homely.

He wasn't much of a designer, but all he needed to know was that he liked the result.

As far as the bathrooms went, he wanted to expand his own, even if he needed to sacrifice part of the guest bedroom. Regardless of whether or not tile floors were easier to clean, Eddie wanted the shaggy, green carpeting he saw at Home Depot-

Sucking in a sharp breath, Eddie jumped in his seat as a loud slam startled everyone in the room. Richie sheepishly held up his hands, leaning over to retrieve his messenger bag, which had fallen from the table.

"Sorry, go on," he mumbled apologetically, lifting the bag with ease. He only used one hand, casting doubt on just how heavy Eddie assumed his belongings were. The professor cleared her throat, moving on to the next section of her lesson.

Eddie managed to pay attention for three minutes, before drifting off into his own world again. Yesterday, his daydreaming had been full of fantasy and color. He considered the thoughts "loud;" the type that transported him to another world. Today's thoughts were more on the logical side.

He added the costs he recalled seeing on each material he liked, rounding up to give himself a fair estimate. Of course, he didn't even begin to include redecorating. The process moved at a snails' pace, though truly, he had only been trying for a day. A majority of the furniture wound up on Facebook for sale, and Patty was left in charge of any customers coming through.

Imagining all the space, he envisioned a couch he saw in New York.

A neighbor bought what was essentially four recliners, motorized and squished together. There were cup holders for each seat, and plenty of space. He could see himself snuggling into a spot and dozing off in front of the TV the way his father would during hockey games. With Stan and Patty, and possibly Bill, the purchase felt justified.

The seats would fit nicely for his home theater. Their old television – a large, heavy box, instead of a flat screen – would most likely wind up in the dump, but Eddie didn't care. He wanted a projector; he always thought those would be the future-

Richie coughed, almost obnoxiously loud. Once again, he yanked Eddie from his planning, throwing him back into the classroom. Huffing through her nose, the professor stared at him with an impatient expectance.

"Sorry- I'm sorry. Can we open a window? This room has no ventilation, and whatever’s in the air has me all fogged up," he excused, standing and moving towards the windows. He opened them as soon as permission was granted, and returned to his seat without looking up at anyone.

Rummaging through his bag, he pulled out the same pill bottle from yesterday, popping another two in his mouth. Eddie grimaced; he definitely took more medication than was healthy, if this was a daily choice. His kidneys would give him hell later. Pressing his lips firmly together, Eddie forced himself to avoid thinking about his own medication abuse.

Sonia confessed to feeding him cough syrup when he was a baby, just to help him sleep and stop crying. He didn't know if she remembered the admission, but other instances in his life started to make sense. She used to bake single cookies for him, if he misbehaved in school or acted too rowdy at home. After eating them, he would feel tired, and go to bed an hour before his scheduled time. He would sleep through the night, and remain a bit sluggish on the way to school.

As far as he knew, she worked as a nurse until her death. She wouldn't have struggled to obtain pills.

Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a notebook from his satchel. There were no colors yet, but he planned on buying a wide variety for his art classes. As for now, he sketched mindlessly with a plain pencil. He learned the trick during a therapy session two years ago; he thought of nothing but color. This wiped the slate clean, trimming off the unwanted thoughts as if they were unruly branches of an otherwise neat tree.

He wasn't as deep in thought as the class hour drew to a close.

“If you're all willing to participate,” the professor (whom Eddie finally realized was named Clayton) began, clasping her hands together in front of her chest, “I would like to have a potluck on Friday. We'll celebrate the closing of our first week together, just as the residents of Old Derry celebrated their first meeting at Town Hall.” She flashed a brilliantly white smile, her cheeks pushing up her round glasses.

Everyone appeared to be in agreement, as pleased murmurs waved through the small group. Mike's smile was wide, and he spoke to his neighbor about an old recipe his mother taught him. Eddie suddenly felt extremely grateful that he didn't need to attend the class. For starters, he was a terrible cook. He still managed to burn and undercook pancakes. Any attempts at spaghetti were too gummy and sticky. Even his sandwiches were underwhelming – too much or too little peanut butter to counter the jelly.

His shoulders slumped as he exited the class ahead of everyone else; he headed for the campus cafe to purchase decent food. All the talk of recipes made his stomach rumble.

Therein lied the second problem Eddie had with cooking. Thinking of Mike talking about learning from his mother, he bit back resentment. Not towards Mike – no, he felt more jealousy than anything with Mike Hanlon. His resentment was directed at Sonia. He used to love baking with her. She deemed cooking too dangerous, with all the slicing and chopping. Baking, however, was easy enough for her to control.

_I need to stop letting her do that. She's fucking dead_ , he thought bitterly.

Stopping abruptly, Eddie shut his eyes tight and breathed in slowly.

_Inhale, exhale. Inhale-_

“Fuck!”

Eddie's arms shot out instinctively; he knew he was falling. However, the arm around his waist stopped him. Whoever walked into him, had fortunately also caught him. They removed their arm, taking a step back. Eddie opened his eyes, surprised to see Richie.

“I was looking through my bag, that's my fault,” he said, offering an apologetic smile. “You okay?” Slightly stunned, Eddie nodded a moment too late. For a split second, they stood together awkwardly, waiting for the other to break the silence. Clearing his throat, Richie motioned the the sign above their heads. “Campus cafe? You read my mind.” He took a cautious step forward, around Eddie.

Yet again, Eddie's response came delayed, as he realized Richie was inviting him to walk together. Hurriedly taking larger steps to keep up, he took a minute to relax.

“All the talk of food got me pretty hungry,” he said, blurting out the first thing he could think of. He desperately wished he was better at flirting. Snickering, Richie nodded in agreement.

“Same here. I was thinking about buying muffins or something from here before class; I can't cook to save my life,” he joked. Eddie perked up, relieved to hear he wasn't the only one not excited about the event. “I'm worried I'll poison everyone. What a shitty way to end the first week.” Eddie couldn't contain his laughter.

“No, yeah, me too. I'm considering just... not going,” he confessed, shrugging at the mockingly offended look Richie gave him. Dropping the expression, Richie approached the counter and glossed over the menu.

“I don't blame you. I'm only in this class until the week is up. I finally got to change my schedule. Unless you're taking ballroom dancing or drawing courses, we probably won't see much of each other,” he said, his smile drooping slightly. Eddie's eyes widened, but immediately his brow furrowed.

“That's... a very weird coincidence, because I am.” Fishing the schedule from his pocket, he showed Richie the proof. Richie's brow rose, and he found his own schedule to show Eddie. Sure enough, they were sharing the two classes now, instead of just one.

“You're not following me, are you?” Richie teased, instantly bringing a blush to Eddie's face. He laughed, his hand on his stomach as he doubled over. “I didn't think your reaction would be so harsh! Relax, I'm only kidding.” Eddie's entire head burned; he felt the flush creeping down to his shoulders.

“You're nowhere near funny, Richie,” he huffed, crossing his arms. Grinning, Richie moved aside to let another student order before him. Eddie didn't protest; their conversation was more interesting to him than a pastry.

“I'm real sorry,” Richie said, and although he was still smiling, Eddie heard the sincerity. “Lemme make it up to you. Why don't I come over, and we try to cook something together?” Eyes widening, Eddie's jaw dropped. There were a couple problems with Richie's statement. He wasn't sure that both of them – self-proclaimed terrible cooks – creating a meal, was “making it up” to Eddie. Then there was the fact that he wasn't completely mad. Slightly annoyed maybe, but more at himself than Richie. He was too easily flustered. No need to “make up” for anything.

_What if this is him asking me on a date? Is going back to my house on the first date too much? Is this weird?_

“You're... serious?” Eddie asked, unsure of where to start with a response. Richie nodded, his smile softening.

“I thought I'd ask. It might be fun, and... I wanna hang out,” he said, clumsily explaining himself. Eddie also desperately wished he could pick up on when someone was flirting with him. He still wasn't positive that was what Richie was doing.

“Oh! Um, yeah- you know what? We can go right now,” Eddie offered, though on the inside, he was screaming. When he imagined being asked out...

Truthfully, he didn't know _what_ he expected. The details were always fuzzy. He paid more attention to the date than how he got there. Everyone on TV seemed so good at it; all parties involved knew the date was, in fact, a romantic engagement. Even the awkward attempts at asking someone out were well received.

Yet here Eddie was, unsure of what the hell he was doing as he led Richie to the parking lot.

“Is your car like... a rental, or something?” Richie asked as Eddie’s car came into view. Scoffing, as if the question deeply offended him, Eddie nearly pranced to his precious Chevy.

“ _Actually_ , I fixed this baby up myself. Only took a couple weeks, since I knew all the parts I needed. You should’ve seen it at the junk yard — completely rusted piece of shit,” Eddie claimed, his hand running along the roof. Swelling with pride, he unlocked the door for Richie to climb in. “All she needed was a little elbow grease.” Starting the car, listening to the delicate hum of the engine, he glanced at Richie to see his reaction.

He was disappointed, to say the least.

Scratching his chin, Richie observed the interior, unsure of what he was supposed to look for.

“You’re one of _those_ guys,” he mumbled, the corner of his mouth turning up. Eddie hit the breaks, lurching them forward as they were halfway out of the parking spot. Immediately, Richie held up his hands in surrender. “I don’t mean anything bad by that. I just didn’t expect you to like cars.” Hesitating, he stumbled over his words as he added, “My mom would- she likes oldsmobiles like these. She’d appreciate what you were talking about.” Eddie’s expression was too easy to read; he knew by how quickly Richie’s face filled with regret.

“This hanging out thing is off to a bad start,” he said flatly. Shifting the gears, he drove out of the parking lot, realizing a second too late that his phone was pairing with the radio. “Oh!” His hand shot out to adjust the volume, but the voice of Paris Hilton already began playing through the speakers. Relief washed over him, but only so much. The music wasn’t blaring the way it was on Main Street, but Richie could still hear his song choice.

Amused, he said, “I also remember the early 2000’s fondly.” The jest was well-meaning enough, and Eddie relaxed.

“Good, cause that’s the bulk of what I listen to,” he joked. Part of him always hated talking about music. Nobody ever stuck with the specific genre they claimed for themselves. Everyone liked everything, unless they liked nothing — in which case, he found them a bit strange. Definitely not someone to associate with.

Richie remained quiet for a majority of the ride, opting instead to listen to Eddie’s playlist.

When they arrived at the Kaspbrak house, Eddie saw Richie’s reservations right away. His eyes narrowed as he studied his surroundings, almost suspiciously. Eddie sensed panic, though he couldn’t imagine why. _Spongebob_ was probably tougher than he was; regardless of whether or not he was a skilled mechanic, he couldn’t fight to save his life. People expected the opposite — as if knowing about vehicles and fighting went hand in hand.

Eddie didn’t necessarily break any molds as much as he failed to completely fill one. He supposed that just meant he created his own.

“I know the place _looks_ haunted, but I promise you’ll be fine,” he assured Richie, jogging up the porch steps. Lagging behind, Richie remained near the empty flower beds. Noticing his concern, Eddie teased, “You’re not one of _those guys_ into the Derry folklore, are you?” At this, Richie snickered, his body relaxing.

“No, but I am an avid horror fan. This house fits the m.o. for a murderer with a chainsaw,” he joked back, cautiously coming up the steps. Standing at the edge of the deck, he leaned against the railing, yanking his hand away when he accidentally came in contact with spiderwebs. Eddie stifled his laugh, though not very well. “I’m waiting for my cordial invitation into your house, Dracula.” His arms folded over his chest, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“I’m pretty sure it’s the other way around; vampires can’t come into a home without invitation,” he corrected Richie, unlocking the door. However, Richie didn’t budge. He watched Eddie with a small smile. A cool breeze blew, eliciting a shudder from Eddie, but having no visible effect on Richie. “Okay, okay. I, Eddie Kaspbrak, formally invite you, Richie..?”

“Tozier.”

“Richie Tozier! I invite you into my non-haunted house,” he declared, a playful grin on his face. He stepped aside to make way for Richie, leading him to the kitchen. “I dunno if my housemate bought anything, but we’ll see what we have to work with.” For a split second, Eddie was excited at the possibility of a grocery shopping date. He wondered if he was the only gay man in the world who found mundane activities so thrilling, but then again, he _had_ grown up under his mothers’ thumb.

“Hopefully there’s chicken. I hear that’s pretty easy to make,” Richie commented. Snorting, Eddie’s mouth twisted into a small pout.

“It’s also the easiest thing to make yourself sick with,” he countered. Richie was looking through his phone, presumably reading from a recipe. Eddie didn’t watch him for long, busying himself with searching the cupboards and fridge for an easy meal. A knock on the door distracted him, and he pouted, unsure of who could’ve been visiting. His scheduled appointments for redecoration and reconstruction weren’t until next week. “I’ll be right back-”

“I’ll get it,” Richie interrupted, a knowing grin on his face. “I had the foresight to order groceries; as much as I like shopping for them myself, I thought I’d save us the trip. We can reserve that for our next date.” He chuckled at Eddie’s expression — his jaw dropped, his eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Stop _doing that_!” Eddie shouted after him, shaking his head and looking around for a way to preoccupy himself. Stop doing what exactly? He couldn’t say for himself.

Spotting the radio beside the sink, he turned the dial, searching for a decent station.

_106.5, playing the hits of yesterday and today!_ Eddie recalled the disk jockeys’ voice from when he would listen to the radio in Sonia’s car. She didn’t like most modern music, but she also thought rock and roll was straight from the devil. Not even _she_ liked country, and this left them with few other choices. Mostly, they listened to 80’s hits. Those songs were harmless, aside from how shamelessly queer most of them were. Eddie didn’t notice until he came out, but he kept the opinion to himself, fearing Sonia would take it away.

Richie used the word “date.” However, Eddie _still_ couldn’t tell if he said it playfully, or with serious intent. They could’ve easily just been hanging out.

“According to this website, we should cut off any extra fat from the chicken breasts, then add seasonings. I can take care of that, if you chop up some onions,” Richie offered, setting the paper sacks on the counter. He rolled the single yellow onion towards Eddie, who stared at the vegetable with slight confusion. Suddenly aware of the fact that he hadn’t shared his plan, Richie laughed sheepishly. “Right, um- we need the onions for flavor. If you just cut them into rings, we’re supposed to place them under and above the chicken as they bake.” Grimacing, Eddie set the onion down.

“I don’t know if that’s... good,” he said, slight disgust in his voice. Richie offered a more assuring smile, sliding over a small bottle of olive oil.

“We already know we’re bad cooks. We might as well experiment,” he said. The unwavering confidence was enough to sell Eddie; he sighed, but smiled, taking a knife from the utensil drawer. Only when he chopped two slices of onion, did he realize he probably should’ve used a cutting board. Rolling his eyes, he yanked the first one he saw from the dish rack.

As he made careful cuts, the music on the radio changed.

_I love this song,_ he thought, humming the melody to himself.

_(Should I give up? Or should I just keep chasing pavements?)_

Eddie imagined himself dancing with Richie; he was twirled and dipped smoothly in time with the song. The space between them was almost nonexistent. They could’ve easily kissed.

“Eds?” Richie’s voice brought him back to the kitchen; he was closer than Eddie realized. “I know I’m not one to talk, but you’re making... huge cuts. Like we might as well throw the whole onion in the pan.” Huffing, Eddie almost tossed the knife down.

But Richie took him by surprise. His breath was hot on Eddie’s ear; he stood close behind him, his hands over Eddie’s to guide him. Making smaller, even cuts of onion, Richie aided him until the vegetable was entirely gone. When he pulled away, Eddie had to resist protesting. His knees were wobbly and weak; he was extremely grateful for the island counter keeping him steady.

_God, I’m touch-starved._

“Thanks- ow!” Eddie didn’t look as he continued to slice, and the knife slid across the back of his index finger. Yanking his hand back, the knife clattered against the wooden board. Blood oozed from the tiny cut, and Richie froze, his eyes trained on the wound. “Damn it-”

“You should really watch what you’re doing,” Richie sighed, taking Eddie’s hand. His brow furrowed, but Eddie’s eyes quickly widened with alarm as Richie gingerly closed his lips over the wound. For anyone else, Eddie was certain that he would pull his hand away angrily. This wasn’t sanitary at all. Or normal.

_... Right?_

“What are you doing?”  
“Eugh!”

Richie pulled his head back, grimacing at what Eddie could only assume was the taste of onions and blood. The idea made him want to gag, but he was too floored by Richie’s strange actions. He moved to the sink, running water over a paper towel. Dabbing the napkin on Eddie’s cut, he suddenly stepped back, unsure of what to do with his own hands. He looked at the raw food left on the counter, then at the door.

Something obviously was... very wrong, but Eddie didn’t know what. They were fine thirty seconds ago.

“Are you okay?” he asked, more concerned about Richie’s episode than his own tiny injury. Richie’s head jerked back in Eddie’s direction, and at once, he calmed down.

“Yeah, yeah- sorry, that just reminded me- I can’t explain how, but it reminded me of my sister. I was supposed to pick her up after I got out of class,” Richie said, running a hand through his hair. Cocking a brow, Eddie watched as he began walking backwards towards the living room. “I’m really sorry- all you have to do is bake the chicken until it’s a hundred and sixty degrees in the middle. There’s a thermometer in the bag- or you can throw it all away. I- Sorry, I have to go.” Without allowing Eddie any room to protest or question him, Richie whirled around and sprinted out of the house.

By the time Eddie processed what happened, and followed Richie outside, he was gone. His finger continued to bleed, and a drop rolled from his fingernail, splashing onto the dirt below.

* * *

Not knowing if something was wrong was understandable.

Kids made those mistakes all the time.

It was knowing when you were making a bad decision, and you made it anyway, that trouble really bit you in the ass.

Richie knew better, but he couldn’t help himself. Eddie Kaspbrak was too cute. Too sweet. Too innocent. He was completely enthralled, and he refused to apologize for taking actions which he _knew_ would have consequences.

But he would absolutely complain, because he didn’t expect the particular consequences he faced.

He wasn’t even sure they _were_ consequences. He didn’t know how to feel.

“I can’t make fun of you and Mr. Handsome anymore!” Richie whined, throwing his crumpled up drawing at Beverly. She caught it without looking away from her book, her brow quirking.

“You can call him Ben, you know,” she said. Sticking out his tongue, Richie flopped on the floor. In contrast to the cool guy Eddie saw him as, Richie rolled onto his back like a child throwing a tantrum. When Beverly didn’t say more, he rolled closer to her and huffed out a louder breath.

“At least your human is the reason we get away with so much,” he reminded her. Ben Hanscom — whom Richie lovingly dubbed “Ben Handsome” — was the local medical examiner and mortician. Bev met him when he first came to town with his mother, roughly eleven years ago. Both of them were kids then, and she never let him go.

Being the dreamboat he was, Ben chose a field where he could help with their pesky dietary needs. Their old method of faking autopsy reports wasn’t bad, but this was certainly much easier – there was no risk of missing a body. Any and all blood drained victims weren’t documented as such by Ben. Of course, the ways of hunting for blood had changed significantly over the last decade.

“I falsified autopsies just as good as he does!” Bev shouted defensively, throwing the paper ball back at Richie. It bounced off his head, as he made no attempt to shield himself. She sat straighter, prepared to speak, but Richie held up his hand. He could hear his mother approaching. She was a mile away, but he counted the seconds until her heels clicked against the hardwood floor.

Both Richie and Bev stood as she entered the room, and Maggie Tozier stared down with a warm smile, opening her arms for them.

“I missed you two — and unfortunately, I can’t stay long. I have an old friend coming through Nova Scotia in a few hours,” she stated. Maggie crossed the room, practically gliding with the grace in her steps. She adjusted her ancient pearl earrings, her eyes landing on Richie’s reflection. “The full moon is coming. Have you eaten yet?” Swallowing thickly, Richie licked his lips, and that seemed to answer her question. Clicking her tongue, Maggie whirled around and closed the distance between them. Cupping his face, she frowned for a moment before kissing his forehead. “Please take care of it. You know what comes if you don’t.” The warning in her words was enough to make him look away.

Maggie hugged Bev again before leaving, and Richie struggled to tune out her thoughts. He could hear the agonized screams of coven members before him — brothers and sisters he never knew. If he wanted to continue his tryst with Eddie, he had to eat, and soon.

It wasn’t like the task was hard.

He only needed a pint.

Richie wasn’t sure how precise the measurement was, but he wouldn’t risk drinking anything less. The consequences weren’t worth testing.

_Can I talk yet? Will she hear me?_

Richie held up a finger to Bev, walking to the window and peering out. He was still for several seconds; the clock chimed, marking a new hour, before Richie nodded.

“Mom doesn’t like when you play with your food, Rich,” she reminded him sternly. Richie slumped on the couch, groaning as he rubbed his face in his hands. If only playing with Eddie Kaspbrak were that simple.

“He’s not food,” Richie sighed. Bev tilted her head, confused, and slightly suspicious. Only now did she take his whining seriously. “I dunno, I thought he was cute-” Bev’s disapproving stare made him roll his eyes, but he continued. “He invited me over to his place...” His brow furrowed. There were plenty of rules he had to follow, and while befriending humans wasn’t necessarily off the table, it certainly wasn’t common. Not without the extreme reasons.

Richie listened to Eddie’s thoughts for their entire class.

It wasn’t always easy.

Eddie might not have even been aware, but Wrecking Ball was the elevator music of his mind. On loop. For the entire hour.

At least when he wasn’t thinking about remodeling his house.

That was truly the problem. The fucking house.

Of all places, it had to be the lonely house on Neibolt.

“Do you think he’s your..?” Bev carefully questioned Richie, letting her expression do most of the talking. He shook his head, waving his hand.

“I don’t think so,” he said, regretting his word choice when he noticed Beverly relax. However, that didn’t stop him from continuing. “I know so.” Again, there was tension in her shoulders. Ben was an exception, but Maggie didn’t hand those out much. She was extremely protective of her children, and considering they had broken rules in their youth which almost got them killed, she was particularly strict with Richie. “That’s not the problem.” He sighed, pulling himself into a seated position.

“You know Mom probably won’t care. She’s fine with Ben. If this guy is supposed to be your soulmate-”

“The _problem_ , Beverly,” Richie groaned, interrupting her. Having Eddie Kaspbrak for a soulmate wasn’t the issue. Hell, not even Richie wanting to become human rather than remain a vampire with his mother and sister, wasn’t as big of a complication as the one he currently faced. Beverly watched him, obviously concerned. Her frown deepened; she could sense the seriousness of the situation, though she couldn’t fathom what was going through his head. “The problem is that we’ve killed at his house before.”


	4. The Party Don't Start Until I Fist Fight

Two bidders currently fought for the rights to Sonia’s antique coffee table. As much of an eyesore as Eddie thought it was, he couldn’t complain about the hefty price tag. He already had too much to spend; the profits of his liquidation sale would go to a charity – either the Trevor Project or the homeless shelter he stayed in after leaving his mother.

His leg stopped bouncing. He sat, paralyzed by the visions of his mother chasing him down the staircase of their brownstone apartment. A phantom pain shot through his knees as he pictured himself leaping from the top of the stoop, his feet hitting the solid pavement below. Sonia cried after him, begging him not to leave, but he forced himself to mute the world around him.

“ _Don’t do this, Eddie! You can’t do this!”_

_Her voice became muddled and foggy, as though someone submerged her in a marshy swamp. Eddie shut his eyes and pushed himself to sprint faster; he knew he was capable of fleeing. He simply had to keep believing. There was no room for doubt, because that was how she would sink her talons in._

_And if he went back, there would be no second chance._

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Eddie glanced around his room. His eyes were damp, but he tried his best to avoid acknowledging the tears. Instead, he searched for anything else he could sell. After only three days, a majority of the items had been taken. He wanted his house mostly cleared before the contractors came in to start renovations.

He already booked another stay at the Derry Inn, though he was considering taking a small vacation elsewhere. Stan and Patty were talking about haunted houses in Toronto; Eddie had never step foot outside the country, and the idea was definitely enticing.

His eyes landed on the small stack of books in the corner of his room. Coated in a thick layer of dust – to the point where the covers were impossible to see – his old Twilight collection lied forgotten. The remainders of his posters were in the garbage, but as disgusting of a condition as the old books were in, he couldn’t toss them.

Sighing, Eddie picked up the top book, swiping a mat of dust onto the floor. He struggled to fight a sneeze, ultimately failing. Although he mostly associated cringe-worthy embarrassment with the series, he also remembered the obsession somewhat fondly. His skimming of self-insert fanfiction was his gateway to recognizing, understanding, and accepting his queerness.

If not for his attractions to Jacob and Seth, his self-discovery might not have been as easy.

A soft smile on his face, Eddie shut his laptop, replacing it in his satchel. His chair scraped against the floor as he rose and stretched. Jogging down the stairs, he searched for the actors on his phone – he was pleasantly surprised to find them both _still_ active, and _still_ his type. Following their social medias, and saving a few of their photos, he tucked his phone away.

There was a new skip in his step as he headed towards the car, though his mood abruptly changed when he remembered who else would be at school.

After Richie ran out, Eddie decided against going to class. He realized they never exchanged numbers, but it hardly mattered. While he couldn’t fathom why Richie would ghost the way he did, Eddie couldn’t help but carry a bit of embarrassment. He wondered if he had done something to mess up their strange date. Rather than dwell on the possibilities, however, Eddie poured his focus back into his home. Stan and Patty helped him prepare the chicken for dinner, and that was the end of it.

Until now.

Eddie’s knee bounced anxiously as he parked, cutting off the engine. People were moving in every direction across the courtyard, but he couldn’t spot Richie amongst any of them. Allegedly, they were going to continue sharing two classes, even with their history course axed from the schedule.

Inhaling slowly, he left his car and embarked towards the art department.

On his first tour of the campus, he paid special attention to this particular building. He knew he wanted to spend a majority of his time there, and as he passed each room, his excitement built. In one class, students painted a live model posing before them. For a moment, he watched through the little window on the door.

Only when someone noticed him did he duck from view, scurrying to his own class.

He searched the halls for a room numbered “104,” pausing when he finally found it. The door was wide open, and no one paid much attention as he slipped in. Eddie scanned each table for an empty seat, his heart stopping when he spotted Richie. He smiled upon noticing Eddie, motioning to the unoccupied chair beside him.

The _only_ free chair. Of course it would be.

Swallowing thickly, Eddie walked over, sliding into the seat. The professor handed out photographs — headshots of celebrities, from what he could see. Two photos were set on their table, and Eddie reached for the first one to catch his eye. Anna Kendrick.

“I loved her in Pitch Perfect,” Eddie claimed. Richie’s expression was a little lost, and Eddie tilted his head. “You’re not a fan?”

“Never heard of it,” he replied, shrugging.

_How have you never heard of Pitch Perfect? Everyone’s heard of that movie._ Eddie wasn’t convinced, and a scene from the movie played out in his head, distracting him. It was his favorite part — the riff off.

“It’s the one with all the singing, right?” Richie asked, reeling him back from his thoughts. Eddie nodded, holding up the photograph to study. He looked at the large square paper in front of him, and the cup of pencils situated neatly between them. Before he even thought to ask, Richie found a ruler to start drawing perfect lines on his sheet. “We’re supposed to draw a grid on the photograph, then draw it to scale here.” He pointed at the paper, and Eddie held up his thumb.

As he drew, he was thankful for the quiet. The professor played music and various other background noises to fill the gap, but it was exactly what Eddie liked. His mind wandered as he works on the grid, and he thought of his house. Redecorating wasn't on his list of tasks to worry about yet, though he always found a moment to daydream of shopping for an aesthetic _he_ would like. Patty was in charge of the customers coming through to remove the last of Sonia's unwanted junk, so he had little else to bother with. Imagining all the space, he envisioned a couch he saw in New York.

He liked it because of the cup holders, but it was essentially four recliners squished together. If he made a couple more friends, he would have reason to buy two and fill the living room space. The TV — which was still a box, instead of a flat screen — would probably wind up in the dump, but he didn’t care. He wanted a projector; he always thought having a mini-theater at home would be cool. As for the bathrooms-

Richie cleared his throat loudly, snapping Eddie out of his daydreams. He didn’t even realize he began sketching.

“Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Something in the air gets me all fogged up.” Eddie chuckled, nodding in agreement.

“Good old Derry weather for you,” he mumbled. Richie’s brow quirked at this, and Eddie couldn’t help but pay more attention to him than his picture. His hands kept moving; he knew he could draw this with his eyes closed.

“You don’t sound too fond of the place,” Richie pointed out, and Eddie’s brow rose as his eyes widened. Understatement of the century — but he couldn’t fault Richie for it. “Care to explain? Have you always lived here, or..?” His stare became intense again. It wasn’t intimidating in an evil or malicious way, but Eddie felt _something_ when Richie looked at him. He just couldn’t put his thumb on what the _something_ was.

“I did when I was a kid, but I moved away after-” Eddie cut himself off, the vivid image of his father's casket coming to mind. Biting his lip, he shook his head. “-after family stuff happened. Mom took me to New York, and I spent the last decade there.” Only when he finished speaking did he realize what felt so off. Richie seemed way more interested — _riveted_ , even — by his boring backstory than anyone else had ever been.

_Is this what it feels like to be the hot girl? Oh my God, am I hot because I’m new?_

“What brings you back?” Richie asked, the corners of his mouth twitching as if he held back a laugh. Eddie’s eyes narrowed, but Richie turned away to sneeze, his smile returning to normal.

“Um, my mother died,” Eddie said simply, waving his hand as if brushing away an annoying fly. Richie tilted his head, his brow furrowing.

“I’m sorry for your loss...” he began, trailing off as he studied Eddie’s face. “Are you doing okay?” Right away, Eddie noticed a difference in Richie’s tone. When Stan and Patty asked if he was okay, it was because he lost his mother, and any sane or normal person would be affected. He answered them honestly, but there was always the aftertaste of guilt on his tongue. With Richie, he asked... _more_. Eddie sensed no accusations of not loving his mother. He heard no judgement. Just curiosity.

_Stan’s only worried about me; he_ _**knew** _ _Sonia._

“I’m fine, yeah! Like, I wasn’t close with my mother at all. I was closer to my father, but that’s neither here nor there,” he answered. Returning his focus to his sketch, he continued, finding it easier to speak when he didn’t face Richie. “I came back because we have a house here. She and Papa left everything to me, so I’m... I dunno. I got here and figured I’d stay for a while. I have friends here.” His mind drifted easily yet again, this time going back to Frank Kaspbrak. When he was healthier, he used to garden with Eddie. He adored his flowerbeds almost as much as his model cars.

The pencil in hand continued to move, but Eddie closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He could almost smell the irises; purple and blue, and his favorite flower to plant. Frank used to scatter the petals in his hair, and Eddie loved to run around the yard pretending his superpower was controlling plant life.

When he returned from his trip down memory lane, Eddie saw his drawing was nearly completed. As expected, Ms. Kendrick looked amazing. Except for maybe the teeth. He was terrible at drawing them right. Regardless, he smiled, satisfied with his work. Adding extra details, he glanced at Richie’s project. He drew Bob Dylan, and Eddie nearly dropped his pencil. The shading was immaculate; there weren’t any stray lines as far as he could tell. Richie watched him, already finished with his portrait.

“Yours looks incredible,” he complimented Eddie earnestly. Waving his hand as if to physically brush off the praise, Eddie continued adding to the portrait. He couldn’t help but steal peeks at Richie’s work, wondering how he finished such a clean piece of work so quickly. “It’s refreshing to have another artist in Derry. Maybe we can go sketch landscapes and stuff sometime.” He wanted to look up, but his face was burning. Blushing would’ve make him look too eager, and even if he _was_ , Richie didn’t need to know.

“I’d love to! You know where I live; I have a great backyard for this kind of thing,” he said. Richie was quiet long enough to make Eddie look up. He scratched his chin, his expression pensive.

“I know a place too, if you’re interested. It’s around the outskirts of town, not wildly far,” he offered. Nodding, Eddie bit his lip. He aimed to write his phone number down, but Richie’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist. Eyes widening, Eddie stared down, watching as Richie slowly let him go. “Sorry! Sorry... You were about to write on your sketch. It’d be a shame to ruin it.” There was no hiding the blush this time.

Eddie felt the heat in his face, but he couldn’t tear his eyes off of Richie’s crooked smile.

“Thanks,” he breathed. It sounded like a dreamy sigh — like one of the stupidly exaggerated fawns from an animated character.

“Anytime, Eds,” Richie said. Eddie’s nose scrunched instantly.

“Eddie, please. Eds is just...”

He couldn’t decide what it was, but it didn’t matter. Richie spoke again, deciding for him.

“Aw, really? I think it suits you. Eds is cute,” he said. Eddie forced a small laugh, then froze.

_Eds is cute? It_ _ **suits**_ _me? Is he calling me cute? Is he fucking calling me cute-_

“Alright, if you’ll clear your tables please and thank you! I will see you all next week; we’re gonna go over shading. Bring your preferred supplies!” The professor swept his hands out in a brushing motion, dismissing them for the afternoon. Richie’s portrait was already neatly rolled into his backpack, and Eddie scrambled to gather his belongings. Clearing his throat, Richie looked from the door and back to Eddie.

_Is he wondering if he should wait for me?_

“I guess I'll see you in our dance class,” Eddie said, holding his books to his chest. He imagined he looked like a dopey schoolgirl from an 80s romcom. Richie’s brow rose, although playfully rather than suspiciously.

“You know, I _have_ to wonder if you're stalking me” he teased. Shutting his eyes, Eddie covered his face with both hands. Whirling around, he took no more than three steps before banging into another table. Richie snickered, and Eddie felt him reaching around to remove his hands. “Careful.” Eddie’s heart skipped a beat; he took an extra moment to remember what words were.

“I’ll see you around, Richie,” he mumbled, leaving the room as fast as his feet could carry him.

Eddie made it to his car and dropped his satchel on the passenger seat. After catching his breath, he searched for his keys, and noticed a folded slip of paper hanging from the pocket of his bag. Slowly opening it, his mind went blank yet again.

_Call me sometime, Eds.  
-Richie_

His phone number was written below the signature, and Eddie screamed, startling the couple walking past him.

His elation didn’t wane; not even when a sudden knock on his window startled him.

Jumping in his seat, his head whipped around, causing a sharp pain in his neck. Rubbing the tender area, he squinted and peered up to see none other than Mike Hanlon. Curious, he rolled down the window, his head tilted.

“Hey, what’s up?” he asked, glancing around the mostly empty parking lot. He hadn’t noticed how few people were around until then.

“I missed class today; I’m glad I ran into you. Do you have any notes?” Mike scratched the back of his head sheepishly, offering a small, pleading smile. Eddie didn’t have the heart to tell him no, but there wasn’t much choice. Biting his lip, his eyes darted to the black pavement below.

“Mike, I’m really sorry – I guess I forgot to tell you. I switched classes. I was in a drawing course today,” he admitted, equally as sheepish. Mike’s shoulders slumped, but he shook his head with a gentle, forgiving expression. Eddie knew that he didn’t really _know_ Mike, but he couldn’t help trusting him. He came off incredibly genuine.

“Don’t worry about it, I can just ask tomorrow,” he said, and Eddie noticed the heaviness of his breath. There were beads of sweat on his forehead, trickling down the side of his face and onto his neck. Taking another look around the parking lot, he realized his car was actually the last one.

“Did you _run_ here?” Eddie asked incredulously, opening the door to step out – though he didn’t know what that would solve. Mike nodded, his hands on his knees as he bent over to catch his breath. “Why- Do you have a car?” He didn’t want to assume, but Mike definitely hadn’t been this much of a mess on the day they met.

Holding up a finger, Mike took an extra second to breathe before standing upright.

“I had some trouble with the truck, nothing I can’t have repaired,” he said, shrugging. Biting his lip, Eddie’s thoughts screamed at him. He wanted to sort through all the words jumbling up in his brain, and make a coherent offer, but his loose lips worked faster.

“I know about cars!” he blurted, cupping his mouth as if his hands could scoop the words back in. Mike’s brow rose, and Eddie dropped his hands to his sides. “I mean- yes, I know how to fix cars. I fixed mine from scrap metal; I’m sure I could help you. Do you need a ride? I’d hate to make you run all over town.” Clearly surprised by the kindness, Mike nodded, a relieved smile spreading across his face.

“You mean it? I don’t want to interrupt your day, or anything…” His voice trailed off, but Eddie saw the hope in his eyes. Nodding, he motioned again to his vehicle.

“Hop in; I bet I can have a diagnosis on your truck within the hour. Maybe even fixed by tonight, assuming I don’t need major parts,” he promised, sliding back into his seat. He waited for Mike to climb in and secure his seatbelt before driving off, following the simple directions provided.

“I live on a farm about a mile outside Derry. Well, not outside Derry, but I might as well be. The town is surrounded by farmland and forest; people don’t typically include all that,” he said, pointing to the streets Eddie needed to take. Recalling how Mike claimed to have lived in Derry his whole life, Eddie suddenly understood why he couldn’t remember him.

“You probably didn’t go to the elementary school on Jackson Street, huh?” he asked. Mike shook his head promptly, and Eddie clicked his tongue. “You lucked out. There were a bunch of redneck jerks there.” Sighing, Mike nodded in understanding.

“I had my fair share of run-ins with some of them. I only remember Henry Bowers though,” he said, wiping his face with the front of his shirt. Eddie jerked to a stop, earning an angry honk from the driver behind him. Waving apologetically, he continued driving.

“Henry Bowers. I haven’t heard that name in a long time,” Eddie breathed, a sudden wave of disgust and shame washing over him.

“Enough said,” Mike mumbled, awarding Eddie an excuse to not press the subject any further. Grateful, Eddie turned on the radio, allowing the stations’ random assortment of past and present hits to fill the silence.

Henry Bowers currently resided in a state prison for possession of illegal narcotics.

Eddie knew because he looked up everyone he could remember before returning to Derry.

Greta Bowie had four kids, two of whom she had during high school. She was recently divorced, and already in a new relationship. Her dutiful sidekick, Sally Mueller, moved to Chamberlain and was doing nothing of notable interest. Belch Huggins, a gleeful crony to Henry, worked as a truck driver, and presumably made few stops in his hometown. His mother was the only friend he had on Facebook, which confused Eddie, because she had several dozens of friends outside her son. Victor Criss was the most surprising of all; he had bleached his hair and dyed it icy blue after moving to San Francisco. He lived in a condo with his boyfriend, who just so happened to be twice his age.

Eddie wished him nothing but the best; Victor had always been the least vicious of the trio. There were times Eddie suspected that he let him escape on purpose – his heart was never in the brutal attacks the way Henry’s was.

With how lawless Henry Bowers had been, it came as no surprise to learn that he had been busted with a meth lab in his barn. The cops hauled him to county jail, he disrupted his own trial with profanity and slurs at the judge, then was sentenced the maximum for his crime. It served him right, and for a split second after reading the news, Eddie had just a twinge more faith in Derry’s justice system.

“So you _are_ a vampire fan,” Mike teased, yanking Eddie from his thoughts. Blinking several times, Eddie stole a quick peek to see Mike lifting his copy of Eclipse from the floor. Huffing, Eddie tried to shake his head, but Mike thumbed through the dog-eared pages.

“I was gonna donate them to charity; I forgot that one,” he fibbed, attempting only once to reach for it. Mike held the book from his grasp, grinning playfully as he skimmed different pages. “It was my least favorite part of the story – come on!” Setting the book in the center console between them, Mike chuckled.

“Really? I thought the third book had the most interesting lore behind it,” he said. Eddie’s eyes widened, and he waited until they reached a stop sign to turn his entire torso and face Mike. “Yeah, I read the books. Color me curious; I wanted to see what the hype was about.” After a pause, and a moment of consideration, he added, “I read the 50 Shades book too.” Eddie’s jaw dropped, and he couldn’t resist laughing.

Even as he tried to calm down, Eddie burst into giggles. He continued to laugh until they reached the farm, only stopping as he cut the engine and wiped tears from his eyes. Mike watched him with a smile stretching from ear to ear.

“Thank you for that,” Eddie said, following Mike to the garage. The building wasn’t attached to the house, and it wasn’t big enough to host more than one vehicle, but there was enough space for a couple chairs and a workbench. Mike had covered the car with a large, gray tarp, much to Eddie’s confusion. However, he wasn’t confused for long.

As Mike unveiled the truck, Eddie’s eyes widened. A large dent had flattened the middle of the hood. Calling the truck “beat up” was a severe understatement, but Eddie didn’t want to be rude. Fixing his face, he cleared his throat and circled the vehicle to check for any other dings.

“I go hunting a lot,” Mike said, excusing the state of his truck. “In that area… sometimes deer just jump out at you.” His eyes bulging from his skull, Eddie gaped at the dent, then at Mike.

“A deer did this? How fast were you go- never mind!” Holding up his hands in surrender, Eddie peered over at the tools laid out on the table. Some were covered in dust; Mike obviously wasn’t much of a handyman. “First, I should work on the cosmetic damage. It’ll only help me get to the real problems under the hood. Does the car start?” Mike shook his head with obvious disappointment. “No problem. Listen, I _will_ need you to hand me tools every once in a while.” Pushing up his sleeves, he attempted to force open the hood.

As expected, however, the top was stuck from the damage.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Mike questioned, handing Eddie a crowbar when he motioned to one on the workbench.

“I’m excited about the challenge,” Eddie stated easily, forcing his weight on the bar. He smiled triumphantly as he felt the hood giving way, coming open with a loud groan of metal against metal. “So tell me more about the Derry lore. Is that what got you so obsessed with vampires?” He teased Mike playfully, not completely thinking about the words leaving his lips. When he worked, any statements he made were unfiltered. They were a string of words floating through his brain, which he could only hope made sense to whomever listened.

Laughing, Mike hopped onto a stack of spare tires, swinging his legs over the edge.

“Uh, well… I know they date back to the 1800’s. Dad told me this town was haunted – cursed, even. He always said to come inside before dark, because once the sun set, people would go missing,” he began, scratching the stubble on his chin as he recalled what his father told him. Eddie knew the expression; he himself had worn it when talking about Frank. “I was too young to care about the newspaper, so it wasn’t until later that I noticed there were a lot of missing persons and dead bodies reported in this town. Like, a strange amount. I thought maybe it could be a serial killer, but the police department chalked everything up to animal attacks.” At once, Eddie could hear Kristen Stewart’s voice as Bella Swan, questioning the integrity of the claim.

_An animal?_

Mike didn’t fail to notice his disbelief, and he continued, “I didn’t buy into that either. People who found bodies wouldn’t exactly keep it secret. They’d be at the local bar or diner telling their spooky story, and I can’t tell how much of it was exaggeration. Dad told me to always keep an eye out though. I’ve heard people say that some of the bodies were found with bite marks, and they were paler than a normal dead body – as if all the blood had been drained.” Incredulous, Eddie scoffed.

“Bite marks? I mean… maybe _those_ could’ve come from an animal,” he reasoned, inspecting the engine. Mike's serpentine belt had snapped, which was most likely the cause of the problem.

“I agree, but… animals bite to eat. It doesn’t make sense for just a simple little bite mark to be there, no flesh torn out and missing,” Mike said, grinning. He shrugged, passing Eddie another wrench. He paused when he considered the truth to Mike’s statement, but he remained unconvinced of supernatural rumors. If anything, he was more concerned about his safety against a potential serial killer. He noticed reports of a dead body found outside town just a week ago, but he didn’t think much of it then.

Now, he had to wonder.

“Do you suspect anyone in town?” he asked, shaking off the slight paranoia beginning to build up.

“Not personally, but the locals all have their opinions,” Mike answered, sounding somewhat tired by the thought. “There’s a lot of families here that come from old money – they claim they’ve been here since Derry started. I think a couple of them could be covens. Have you ever seen Old Lady Keene? She looks like she’s a thousand years old. So they’re not pretty, Hollywood vampires. They’re more on the scary side.” He chuckled to himself, thinking of who else was on his list of suspects. “You know people thought your house was a den for vampires. It certainly looks the part. You should really consider a paint job.” He snickered, and Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, cautiously removing the belt. “The only vampires in my house were in the posters on my walls. Those are long gone though, so…” His voice trailed off as he continued working on the truck. Mike would have to order a replacement belt, and perhaps a new battery, but the damage wasn’t as severe as Eddie initially believed. Hell, those parts could be picked up at a local auto shop.

Snapping his fingers, Mike laughed and said, “A lot of people point the finger at that guy from class. Richie Tozier?” As soon as his name was mentioned, Eddie froze. He nearly dropped the wrench in his hand, but was fortunately quick enough to save himself embarrassment. Licking his lips, he avoiding looking at Mike. He didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong, as he continued to talk. “I think it’s just because he likes to keep to himself. He appreciates his privacy, and no one in this town can respect that.” Mike’s face scrunched, and Eddie snorted. He remembered his mother being one of those people, unable to mind her own business. “I hate to say it, but I think my boyfriend is a big believer in the Richie Tozier theory.”

Eddie already knew Mike had a boyfriend – he didn’t forget in the short few days they hadn’t spoken. However, hearing Mike mention him so freely was remarkably refreshing. Eddie continued to feel pleasantly surprised (and slightly disappointed). He had never associated a normal, happy queer community with Derry.

To be fair, though, he had only really associated his mother with the town. Regardless of whether or not his friends were residents, they existed elsewhere in his mind. They were outliers, which he absolutely didn’t count.

Closing the hood and stretching, Eddie listened as his shoulders and back satisfyingly popped. Mike hopped off the tires, watching him with poorly hidden anticipation.

“All I need is a replacement belt; we can head to AutoZone now. Once I replace it, the truck should be good as new,” he said. Mike beamed, his smile too contagious to resist. Eddie smiled back, wiping his hands on his jeans.

“You saved me thousands, I’m sure,” Mike said, staring at him in awe.

“Hundreds, but yeah,” Eddie corrected jokingly, snickering when Mike pushed his arm.

“Lemme do something to repay you-“

“No, no, it’s cool-“ Holding up his hands, Eddie tried to protest, but Mike was too eager to stop.

“I make hella good brisket if you’re a meat eater, and even better vegan pizza, if you’re not,” he offered. At this, Eddie paused. He wanted to have guests over for a while, even if his new house wasn’t furnished anymore. Impatient as ever, he wanted to start hosting parties like the college kids on TV. Offering Mike help came from a place of sincere kindness, but he also wanted to branch out with his friends. He wanted more, which his mother had always made difficult.

Grinning, he held out his hand, but pulled back before Mike could shake it.

“Only if you come over for drinks. You can invite your boyfriend; we’ll talk all about his vampire theories,” Eddie said. Mike groaned, but the smile on his face confirmed his answer without him having to say it.

* * *

Hanging out with Mike was incredibly easy, which came as a relief to Eddie. For a while, he feared that not making any friends was solely his fault. He blamed himself for not being more outgoing, or sociable, but now he wasn’t so sure. Rekindling his relationship with Stan, and meeting Patty, reminded him that he _liked_ being an extrovert. He could only hope his streak would continue.

_**To: Richie  
** _ _(5:53 PM) We’re having a small get-together at my house. You’re invited!_

Peeking at his messages for the third time, Eddie sighed with disappointment as he stared at the little checkmark beside his text. Richie saw the invitation, no doubt about it.

But he still wasn’t there.

Of course, only an hour had passed, and Eddie was barely finished preparing the drinks.

After successfully starting Mike’s truck, he drove them into town to pick up supplies for their impromptu celebration. Stan cleaned what little mess was in the kitchen, equally as eager to have company over. Patty had left to visit her mother for a few days, and he didn’t seem to remember how to function without her.

While Mike cooked, Eddie researched different drinks to try mixing, and Stan set up his TV and PlayStation on the island counter. He started a trivia game, which turned out to be much more fun than Eddie expected. He was terrible with trivia, unless it dealt with an incredibly niche subject he enjoyed.

They all laughed at their equally terrible answers to the current question, when suddenly someone knocked at the door. Eddie perked up, hopeful that Richie was on the other side. Although he was the furthest from the entrance, he hopped off his seat and nearly sprinted across the house. When he opened the door, however, he was surprised to see Bill.

“Hey!” Smiling brightly, Eddie wrapped his arms around him, hugging Bill tightly. “Come in, I’m glad you’re here. We’re having a party.” Bill cleared his throat, slowly following Eddie. His demeanor was different from the other day, which came as a huge relief.

“I know,” he replied, and he passed Eddie as Mike came into view.

“Babe, you made it!” Mike shouted happily, holding out his arms. He wrapped them around Bill’s waist, kissing him softly. Stan wasn’t far behind Mike, and he shared Eddie’s look of astonishment. Of course, Eddie felt a bit more than surprised.

Blindsided was a better word, as a matter of fact.

Each emotion hit Eddie swiftly, with more force than the last – though thankfully, they didn’t linger. He was definitely shocked, because Bill was the last person he expected Mike to date. As long as Eddie had known him, there didn’t seem to be a queer bone in his body.

_There still might not be, if he’s the top_ , Eddie thought, quickly shoving his stupid joke from the forefront of his mind.

The shock was followed by jealousy, which he figured was brief because he had long since gotten over his crush on Bill. He supposed he was more envious of him for dating Mike than anything else. Or dating at all. A small wave of guilt immediately followed, because he had no idea Bill came out. He wasn’t around, and he didn’t know the circumstance.

Loneliness hit him worst of all, as he realized he didn’t know _Bill_. They stood two feet apart, but he felt isolated on a continent millions of miles away.

Biting back the flurry of emotions, Eddie swallowed thickly and forced a smile. Truly, he was happy to see Bill again, without the crazed talk of vampires.

Then he remembered what Mike said.

“ _My boyfriend is a big fan of the Richie Tozier theory.”_

God, he really hoped Mike was only joking.

“You all know each other?” Mike broke the silence, which Eddie hadn’t realized settled upon them. Stan nodded, fighting a grin and failing.

“We grew up together,” Eddie blurted, having no control over the words leaving his mouth. Mike’s eyes lit up, a fresh excitement taking over. Bill sensed the change instantly, throwing his head back and groaning.

“Y’all gotta tell me everything about him. Was he embarrassing? Did he have a Naruto phase?” he asked eagerly, leading them back into the kitchen. Reclaiming his drink, Eddie snickered as the memories broke through the dam and flooded his brain. They pushed out any leftover feelings, much to his relief, and he perched himself back on the barstool.

“He absolutely was, and he still might,” Stan replied, laughing when Bill pushed him.

“I wish your Twilight phase hadn’t ended; that was way more embarrassing,” he sighed, nudging Eddie. Again, Stan was the first to interject.

“I don’t think it’s completely over. I saw who you followed this morning,” Stan said, busying himself with a drink while Eddie gaped at him. He forgot Stan was one of his only followers, and could see his activity. Struggling for a comeback, Eddie instead threw a fry at him. “You’re such a baby!” Stan laughed as he shouted, with Mike and Bill copying Eddie and tossing fries.

Reacting carelessly, Stan tossed his drink on Eddie. His eyes widened as his hand moved, but he couldn’t stop himself. Shocked, Eddie stood, frozen. Bill and Mike looked from one boy to the other, with Bill stifling giggles. Eddie’s jaw dropped, and his mouth remained open as he threw his own drink on Stan. He poured himself another glass, but Stan ran off to the backyard, knowing what was coming. Bill followed Eddie out, with Mike close behind.

They chased each other with their drinks, cackling madly as they played.

Eddie couldn’t recall the last time he’d done something as frivolous as _playing_. He always acted so wooden and awkward with all his movements, unsure of himself as if he wasn’t in complete control. Letting loose with his friends always gave him a sense of self, but after years without them, it had become the norm to be a total stiff.

_Thank God for them_ , Eddie thought, sprinting across the yard, closing the distance on Stan.

When they returned to the kitchen, they didn’t bother to clean up. They resumed their game of trivia, snacking on the buffet Mike prepared and casually sipping their drinks. Eddie didn’t think about Richie, or his rejected invite.

By eight o’clock, the party had moved to the living room. Mike found terrible B-movies on Netflix, and Stan made a bowl of popcorn for them to throw at the screen. They sat cross-legged in a semi-circle, laughing carelessly at the bad acting.

At some point, Eddie needed a refill on his drink, and Bill followed him to grab another glass for Mike. Stepping over the puddle of wasted lemonade, Eddie giggled.

As if reading his mind, Bill asked, “Remember when we had to be careful not to make a mess?” He studied the kitchen, and something in his expression told Eddie that their feelings were most likely the same. There was suddenly a distance in Bill’s eyes, and beyond that, longing. “A lot’s changed.” He left the comment open for Eddie to jump on, but he didn’t take the bait. Knowing he wouldn’t, Bill pressed on. “I’m sorry about the other day. How are you… holding up?”

Running a hand through his hair, Eddie stared at the contents of his glass. He and Stan found a recipe for pink lemonade with vodka and champagne; he thought tonight would be perfect to try it with his friends. Now, he was grateful he had the alcohol for this conversation.

“You know, Bill, I’m great. I’ve got a whole new life ahead of me,” Eddie answered, lying through his teeth. Perhaps alcohol wasn’t a good idea at all. His thoughts were running wild, and he wished a meteor would crash into the city to end the moment. He wished someone would say something. Anything.

He wished-

“Ah!”

Another knock scared him, forcing him to jump in his spot. Relaxing, he ignored Bill as he walked through the living room again to answer the door. Although he knew no one else would visit, he remained surprised to see Richie standing on his porch. Eddie's mouth curved up into a small smile, and he was so lost in his relief and eagerness to see Richie, he hardly noticed the commotion behind him.

The unintelligible shouting didn’t feel real, even as Richie’s stare became alarmed, and Bill clumsily knocked him away from the entrance of the house.

Pinning Richie to the ground, Bill raised his fist and struck him. The punches came faster, his free hand gripping Richie’s collar to hold him up. Mike and Stan rushed from behind Eddie, yanking Bill off. He shouted more belligerent nonsense, and Eddie’s heart sank when he heard the words “blood sucker.” His face burned, and his body felt as though it moved in slow motion when he turned back to Richie.

“Oh God,” he whimpered, kneeling down to help Richie sit up. His nose was bleeding, and he wanted to scream over his immediate thought

_Vampires don’t bleed._

“I’m fine, just stunned. What the fuck was that?” Richie said, laughing off the incident as if it weren’t the _most mortifying_ thing to happen. Eddie was at a loss for words, until Stan came out to check on them.

“Tell Mike that he and Bill can stay in the guest room. I don’t think any of us are sober enough to drive them home,” Eddie blurted, before Stan could open his mouth to speak first. He studied Eddie and Richie momentarily before nodding curtly and disappearing back inside. Unsure of what to do next, Eddie helped Richie to his feet. His bleeding didn’t last long; it already began drying on his upper lip. “I’m- I don’t know why he- I’m so sorry, Richie. I-“ His thoughts were racing a mile a minute; he couldn’t begin to decipher any of them.

_I didn’t know he was that crazy. He’s my childhood friend and he’s insane. I can’t believe he attacked the guy I liked. I can’t believe I ever had a crush on him. What’s Mike thinking? Did I just cause their breakup with a stupid party? What the fuck is wrong with Bill?_

“Hey,” Richie placed his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, and at once, the thoughts ceased to exist. He offered a small, reassuring smile as he tilted Eddie’s chin up. “I’m fine. I promise. I didn’t mean to ruin the night-“

_What the FUCK? Why is he apologizing? What the fuck, what the fuck-_

“-I came because texting isn't totally my thing, and I wanted to make sure we were actually on for that drawing date. The location is kind of a surprise, so I don't want you Googling it, but… how does this weekend sound? I can drive us; like I said, it’s not far.” Biting his lip, as if he knew Eddie would be weak in the knees watching him do so, Richie waited for his answer. Meeting his gaze, Eddie couldn’t hold the contact for long – his stare was far too intense. He wasn’t sure Richie realized the caliber.

“Y-yeah, I’d love to,” Eddie finally said, sounding more breathless than he wanted to. He reminded himself of a dog in heat. Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, he pressed his lips into a thin line and peered over his shoulder. “Do you want some ice or something? I can clean your face.” Shaking his head, Richie wiped half of the blood in one clean sweep.

“I’ll live,” he joked, carefully backing away from Eddie. He didn’t turn until he reached the stairs, waving once and saying, “I’ll see you Saturday. Probably around noon, okay?” Nodding, Eddie watched as he walked away, disappearing from view at the end of the street.

Richie maintained a level of coolness Eddie couldn’t dream of achieving. He invited him out as though he hadn’t just been in a blindsiding fight, completely ignoring the blood on his face. Meanwhile, Eddie was chiding himself for entertaining the notion that vampires could exist, and Richie could possibly be one. Small town lore was fun, but he had to stop being so damn gullible.

Shaking his head, he hesitated before returning inside.

The movie continued playing; the actors performing their lines was the only noise Eddie heard. He strained his ears to listen for more, but if Bill and Mike were talking, they kept the volume to a whisper.

_If Richie was a vampire, that would explain why he was totally unfazed by the fight_ , Eddie thought, immediately grimacing at himself. Huffing, he returned to the kitchen where Stan was cleaning their mess. Wordlessly, Eddie joined him, sweeping stray popcorn into a dustpan. He sensed Stan wanted to talk about what happened, but he didn’t initiate any conversation. His expression was blank, though his jaw was noticeably tight.

Only when he finished his tasks, and disappeared up the stairs, did Eddie think to ask: _What was it like losing Bill?_

His lips were parted, but the words didn’t come out – there was no one left to hear them. Stan shut the door to his bedroom, and Eddie heard enough of a difference to flinch. He hadn’t picked out subtleties of something as insignificant as a door closing in years. Not since he left Sonia.

But the skill apparently never left him.

Eddie considered texting Stan, but decided against it. They could talk in the morning, and he would listen if Stan needed to vent. He lost Eddie, and some time later, he lost Bill. Perhaps Bill was worse, because there were probably moments where he came back, good as new. Eddie wondered how many times he would fall for the illusion. The idea of Bill having snapped didn't completely register with him yet.

_I’ll deal with it in the morning_ , Eddie thought, forcing everything from his mind. He jogged upstairs to his room, seating himself comfortably in the center of his bed. His laptop lied closed in front of him, and he absentmindedly opened it. _I wonder where Richie wants to take me. He doesn’t seem like an athletic guy, thank God. I can’t keep up with that._

Giggling to himself, Eddie pictured Richie’s face. He was cute, with his crooked glasses and wild, messy hair. He was tall, and had a nice smile.

Thinking about their time in class, Eddie attempted to find moments where Richie could’ve been flirting. He wondered if Richie stole peeks at him the way Eddie had tried to subtly glance at Richie-

_Wait._

Frowning, Eddie recalled catching Richie staring. Intensely. Unashamed. Multiple times, as a matter of fact.

He stared at Eddie when he dropped his bag in history class – both times, as if checking on him. He also cleared his throat, capturing Eddie’s attention, though it was obvious that wasn’t his intention. Every time Eddie lost himself in thought, it was Richie who pulled him out. He came up to Eddie and specifically mentioned cooking together, as if reading his mind. When he licked the blood from Eddie’s finger, he grimaced and acted disgusted.

_But what if that was to save face?_

Inhaling slowly, Eddie tried to reason with himself. He was merely trying to give Bill credit. If he could find reason to justify Bill’s wild accusations of Richie being a vampire, they could talk about everything and move on. He wasn’t beyond saving – Eddie needed to believe that.

His hands moved without any direction or thought.

If he absolutely had to have his Bella Swan moment, then fine. He would do it for Bill.

“Cold ones,” he mumbled, typing the first words to come to mind. His thoughts were more focused on replaying the fight, and the secondhand embarrassment which tagged along with the moment. He didn’t think about his internet search until he saw the results. “Cracking open a cold one with the boy- I fucking _hate_ it here!” Huffing, he threw his laptop across the bed, freezing as it dangled near the edge.

Cautiously, he reclaimed the computer, opening a new tab to search “vampires.”

Eddie skimmed through Wikipedia before moving on to the next website with information.

_Vampires have remarkable strength, and often have hypnotic, sensual effects on their victims. Richie’s eyes are hella intense, but I could just be a simp,_ Eddie thought, biting the inside of his cheek. Relieved at how unconvinced he was, he continued reading.

There wasn’t much vampire lore which he didn’t already know, but one particular detail stuck out.

“Certain traditions claim a vampire cannot enter a house unless invited by the owner. They are also unable to walk on consecrated ground, cross running water or the twig of a wild rose, and can be warded by mirrors,” Eddie read the excerpt several times – out loud and to himself. He knew Richie was only joking when asking for an invitation.

They were goofing around.

He was playing into the bit for fun.

He eyed Frank’s dead rose bushes for a split second, but they were an eyesore in their current state. Eddie stared at them too, when he first came back home.

Hastily shutting the laptop, Eddie stared at the moonlight on his wall. He could see the outline from where his posters once were, protecting the wall from dust and time. Sucking in another deep breath, he wiggled under the covers, pulling the sheets tight over his shoulders.

Vampires weren’t real, but playing into the fantasy was easier than accepting his best friend lost his mind. Believing in the impossible was easier than facing the reality of a potential suitor. Eddie supposed what scared him the most about all of this, was (with such ridiculous reasoning) how much he truly sounded like his mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for bearing with me while I write! As I reread, I notice some inconsistencies (at least from the redone chapters, which ended with this one), so I'm doing my best to retcon the vibes and make it all make sense. Again, thank you for sticking with me if you've made it this far.


	5. A Horrible, Terrible, No Good, Kind of Okay Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have no idea the STRUGGLE BUS I rode to get this chapter here.

Dressing for a date was impossible in movies and TV shows.

Eddie rapidly came to realize there was **no** exaggeration. He threw on outfit after outfit, dissatisfied with each one. Clothes he once thought he looked nice in, lied in a heap on his floor. After an hour, the only solid choice he made was about his shoes. He never had a chance to wear the silver hiking boots, because they didn’t match with anything else he typically wore.

Today, however, presented the perfect opportunity.

He spent the night wondering what the mysterious date could be, and somewhere in his restless hours, he remembered what Mike said about the areas surrounding Derry.

Forest and farmland.

Richie claimed they wouldn’t be leaving town, but they were going _somewhat_ far out.

He suspected the comfort and sturdiness of the boots would come in handy.

But this brought him back to his current problem: he owned nothing else to go with his shoes.

Grimacing at the last shirt hanging in his closet, he hesitantly pulled it from the rack. Plain. Sea foam green. Sighing, he tugged the fabric over his head, pausing to judge himself in the mirror. His mouth twisted into a pout; he didn’t look _terrible_.

Picking up two different pairs of overalls, he studied the colors, comparing them to his shirt. If he chose blue, he worried the look would come off too basic. He didn't want to serve Bob the Builder on his first date. On the other hand, choosing pink meant he would look like a Cosmo and Wanda fusion. Groaning, he tossed the pink overalls onto the floor. His decision was hasty, but he ran out of time. Richie said he would arrive around two o’clock.

His phone read 1:54 PM.

_Do I wanna look like I was waiting, or make **him** wait? What if he’s late?_ Eddie thought, chewing his bottom lip. He hated the rules of dating; they weren’t written anywhere, and they weren’t taught in school. Everyone had to figure them out as they went, and he was terrible with that method of teaching. His gym coach pushed him into the community center pool during a field trip, in an attempt to make him learn how to swim, but he nearly drowned. Sonia raised ultimate hell on the poor man; Eddie couldn’t stay mad at his lousy teaching.

Shaking his head, he smoothed any possible wrinkles from the front of his overalls. He double checked his pockets for his phone and wallet, then checked _again_ to make sure his bag held all of his supplies. He splurged on a giant set of colored pencils, and he was eager to draw. Once he had time to fix Frank’s garden, he planned on adding several varieties of flowers which he could later sketch.

Outside, a loud, deep rumble broke his train of thought. Curious, he peered through the curtains, his jaw dropping as he watched Richie pull up on a motorcycle. His stomach twisted into a knot of nerves, and he didn’t think as he opened the door and revealed himself. Richie removed his helmet, running a hand through his hair before noticing Eddie.

“Hey!” he called out, waving with an eager smile on his face. The goofy, lopsided grin was a wild juxtaposition to the danger his bike represented. His torso twisted, and he lifted a spare helmet from his side. “Come on, you’re gonna love this place!” Eddie’s knees were weak, but miraculously, they carried him down the porch steps.

_I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die._

His fear mingled with the tiniest burst of excitement; his mother would’ve had a stroke if she saw him about to climb atop a motorcycle. Not only was he about to ride a death machine through town, but he was going on a date with another boy.

_It’s a good thing she’s already dead. It’s not my fault, at least,_ he thought, sobering himself enough by the time he reached Richie. Swallowing thickly, he cautiously took the helmet.

“I… didn’t know you drove a motorcycle,” Eddie said, hoping he hid the shakiness of his voice. Richie tilted his head, giving him a once over.

He absolutely did _not_ hide anything.

Grinning slightly, he said, “You look cute.” Helping Eddie secure the helmet, he patted the side and added, “You can trust me. I’ve been riding this bike for five years. Besides, if you get scared, you can always just hold onto me tighter.” Eddie’s breath caught in his throat, but Richie didn’t seem to notice. He steadied himself on the bike, waiting for Eddie to make himself comfortable. Wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist, he breathed in slowly. Richie’s natural, woodsy scent was pleasant. Relaxing.

Him starting the bike, however, was not as relaxing.

“Oh God,” Eddie mumbled, clutching Richie’s shirt.

“Before we go any further, I wanna ask a couple things,” he shouted over his shoulder. Eddie nodded, trying to avoid any thoughts of motorcycle collisions. “First, are you sure you wanna do this? We can take a car or something if you’re too nervous.” At this, Eddie swallowed any lingering anxiety to think over his answer. Truthfully, he _wanted_ the experience. The excitement began to build (slowly, but surely), and if he allowed himself to embrace it, he would know those feelings outweighed any apprehension.

“Y-yeah, I do. I can just hang on to you, right?” he asked, attempting playfulness. Richie laughed, nodding as he closed the visor over his helmet.

“Alright. Second question,” he said, turning his torso just a bit to better look at Eddie. “This _is_ a date. Like, if you’re wondering if I’m hitting on you, the answer has a strong possibility of being yes. Are you down with that?” Floored, Eddie gaped – a pure fish out of water. All he could manage was a nod, and he was extremely grateful the helmet hid his face. “Nice. Alright, let’s go.”

Without waiting for the words to finish leaving his lips, Richie revved the engine and sped out of the driveway. Loose rocks and gravel sprayed out behind them; Eddie heard a couple hitting the iron fence. He clung tightly to Richie, his face continuing to burn as they drove. Richie weaved smoothly through traffic, but Eddie shut his eyes regardless of how easy the ride came.

His heart hammered in his chest, but as they escaped the traffic in downtown Derry, and turned onto the emptier highway, his concern evolved into something different.

Something new.

The wind could’ve carried him away, but he didn’t feel as though he would hit the pavement. He felt that perhaps he could fly.

Cautiously, he unfurled one hand, removing the arm from Richie completely. Sure enough, he didn’t fall. He didn’t die. There was no pain to speak of. Discrediting his earlier panic, he began laughing to himself. The wind felt _good_ as it hit him. A thrill rushed through his blood and electrified his bones; he wanted Richie to drive faster.

As if reading his mind, Richie sped up, careful as he finally turned off the highway. They took the last exit before leaving Derry, and as Mike said, all Eddie saw were large trees bunched together. Richie slowed to a stop, cutting the engine and steadying the bike for Eddie to hop off. He swung the keyring around his finger, pocketing them and grabbing a small basket which hung from the side of his motorcycle. As far as Eddie could see on either side, the road stretched along masses of trees. There were no visible rest stops or parking lots.

“Is there a picnic area around here?” Eddie asked, following Richie along a faded, dirt path.

“You could say that,” he replied, a knowing smile on his face. He walked at a leisurely pace, humming a random tune as they hiked through the woods. Much to Eddie’s dismay, Richie turned off of the path, walking through the moss and leaves carelessly. He remained glued to his spot on the trail, his eyes darting around as though he were already lost. “Don’t worry, Eds. I’ve been through here a million times. I know these woods like the back of my hand.”

Somehow, his mere words were enough.

Although Eddie hesitated for a split second more, he continued to follow. Richie carried himself with a strange confidence; he wasn't like Bill in that he knew exactly what he was doing - he executed his coolness by complete accident. As a matter of fact, Eddie wondered if he was the only person in Derry who would consider Richie _cool_.

After another ten minutes of walking, spending most of the time venturing up a hill, Richie pulled back a flimsy branch and revealed what they had been hiking for.

Eddie’s eyes widened. Below them, at the foot of the hill, was a small bridge. Beyond the bridge, as far as he could see, were plains of soft, green grass. The trees surrounded him in a crescent shape, tapering off near the top, where Eddie realized his town lied. The spot was completely hidden; he suspected no one aside from Richie had come here in years.

Flowers bloomed undisturbed, filling the air with a fresh aroma which never would’ve survived in Derry.

Breathing in deeply, Eddie smiled, noticing a minute too late that Richie already crossed the bridge and was unfurling a blanket over the grass. Briskly walking across the creaking wood, ignoring the nagging thought of it potentially collapsing, he pulled out his sketchbook and pencils. There were plenty of ideas in mind, with the stunning view surrounding him.

His eyes landed on the tall, seemingly forgotten, concrete bridge which extended beyond the trees - either leaving town or entering, depending on perspective. The corner of his mouth pulled upward; he used to adventure down to the junkyard solely to see trains pass, and he realized this was the bridge they came from. He liked to imagine he could hop on one and disappear, going wherever life would take him.

“So, I thought we could make a day out of this. I have lunch, I have water... I have extra art supplies if we need them,” Richie said, opening the basket to reveal all of his spoils. Eddie couldn’t lie; he was impressed.

“I’m happy I came with you – thank you for bringing me here; I never would’ve known,” Eddie replied, placing a hand on Richie’s forearm. His touch lingered for a moment, before he slowly pulled back. Unsure of what to do with his hands, he busied them with drawing. Opening his book to a clean page, he began sketching the massive bridge.

In his peripheral vision, he saw Richie watching him, though he pretended he didn’t notice. His blush gave him away, but if Richie caught on, he didn’t call him out.

“Tell me about yourself, Eddie. You’re hard to figure out; you say you grew up here, but you don’t know about this place? I know there’s no reason to come back here, but I remember a lot of kids playing on those train tracks,” Richie said, scratching his chin with the eraser of his pencil. Shrugging, Eddie continued to focus on his sketch.

“I _did_ grow up here, but…” Sighing, he erased a stray line. He attempted to draw again, but the line refused to follow his direction. “Living with my mom was complicated.” Not once in his life did he have to explain Sonia to anyone; his friends saw enough firsthand, so his curt words for her always made sense.

But Richie leaned in with an earnest, gentle ear, and the floodgates were open.

Eddie never considered he _had_ floodgates.

“You don’t have to talk about it, but I’m a pretty good listener, if you want to,” Richie offered, which was more than enough for Eddie. A tsunami of words were rising in his throat with such force, he thought he might throw up.

“She micromanaged. A lot. She was extremely critical of other people, and always deflected any criticism towards herself. I didn’t agree with her a majority of the time, but I never felt… I guess, _strong enough_ , to argue. She knew how to suck all the air from a room, so I never thought it would work anyways,” Eddie blurted, each word falling from his tongue faster than the last. He stumbled with his speech, but couldn’t stop.

In his head, he pictured each moment clearly as he spoke. He saw the ivory pillars of the tall, professional building which claimed to be a homeless shelter. He remembered, in crystal clear detail, every wrinkle and sun damaged spot on the old mans’ balding head when he denied Eddie a room.

Shutting his eyes, Eddie breathed in the sweet, flowery scent to remind himself he wasn’t in New York, where pizza grease, exhaust, and garbage juice filled the air.

_She was violently homophobic._

He saw himself sitting in the tiny kitchen of their apartment, his thighs glued to his chair, which was precisely why he avoided getting up. Sonia hated the sound of metal scraping against linoleum anyways, so he figured he might as well stay while she cooked. He finished his homework hours ago, but at least he had the TV. The news anchors covered a story about a hate crime which had taken place in Queens, a mere two blocks away.

“ _If you ask me, that freak got what he deserved.”_

Sonia’s words were louder in his head than they had actually been coming from her. Swallowing thickly, he once again replayed the moment he ran away. He was terrified, and spent the night without sleep in a cold alleyway, before finding the shelter he would proudly call home.

Loudly clearing his throat, Richie brought Eddie back to the peaceful field, where Sonia was long dead and he had a warm bed to sleep in.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring all that out,” Richie said. This time, _he_ placed a hand on Eddie’s forearm, squeezing softly. Chuckling, Eddie shook his head.

“I’m the one oversharing. Don’t- I’m okay. I guess I needed to talk about it,” he sighed, his words turning into more of a mumble near the end. Richie’s lips were pursed. He stared at Eddie expectantly, waiting for him to continue. Eddie clicked his tongue, surprised as he realized he _wanted_ to keep talking.

With Stan, he didn’t want condolences or to work through his grief. As far as he was concerned, Eddie didn’t carry any grief.

But he did.

For much longer than anyone, _including_ Eddie, realized.

“Why did you leave Derry?” Richie carefully prodded the information from Eddie, unknowingly asking the perfect questions.

“Mom went crazy. Crazier than normal,” he said simply, shrugging almost in defeat. “After my dad died, she couldn’t cope. I remember feeling guilty, because I didn’t think she loved him as much as I did.” The claim shocked Eddie, regardless of whether or not he held the belief since childhood. Maybe he believed as much, but he never put the idea into words.

Sonia didn’t spend nearly as much time with Frank as he had. They gardened together. Fixed the car. Shopped for groceries.

He listened to Eddie’s stories of fantasy and make believe – _encouraged_ them.

Frank played by Sonia’s rules, but he also broke them so Eddie could have a childhood. He introduced him to his favorite scary movies, and the old rock and roll he could pick up through static on their radio. He showed him how to change a tire, and although he had been too young at the time, he showed him how to shave (a lesson Eddie didn’t end up needing, with how little facial hair he was capable of growing).

There were so many minor life lessons and memories Eddie associated with Frank, and therefore, so many movies he no longer watched. Songs he couldn’t listen to. Games he refused to play.

Frank Kaspbrak was easily an open book, and Eddie had been the same, until his father died.

“I bet your dad would be proud of who you became, despite your mom,” Richie said confidently, earning a sad smile from Eddie. He couldn’t deny wondering how Frank would’ve handled his coming out. He liked believing his father was accepting, and happy as long as Eddie was.

“He might’ve teased my Twilight phase, but I think so too,” Eddie joked, his grin widening. Richie laughed, clicking his tongue and returning to his sketch. Looking around the field, Eddie considered a comparison to the meadow Edward took Bella, but quickly shut the thought down. “Sorry for dumping all that on you. I sat around all day thinking of ways I might ruin the date, but talking about my mother wasn’t one of them.” He wanted to laugh again, but his throat tightened. Panicked, he tried to clear it. He refused to cry; Richie would think he was a complete basket case. He was failing, but he still had to try holding himself together.

Tilting his head up to study Eddie’s face, Richie reached out to brush a stray tear from his cheek. Much to Eddie’s surprise, he didn’t blush. Embarrassment didn’t overtake him. Instead, he released a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and relief sunk in.

“I could listen to you talk all day. I really don’t mind,” Richie assured him. Sprawling out on the blanket, he rested his hands on his stomach and stared as Eddie wiped his eyes.

“I promise I don’t cry this easily all the time,” Eddie muttered, laughing to himself. He could sense Richie’s curiosity, which was confirmed by the inquisitive tilt of his head. “I cry when I least expect it; never when the situation is appropriate.” He learned his lesson when he watched Frank’s favorite comedy. A scene came on which they would always quote to each other, and Eddie began laughing hysterically. The cackles became sobs, and Eddie frightened himself with the sudden display of emotion.

Scooting over, creating a space beside him, Richie nodded his head towards it. Biting his lip, Eddie hesitated before lying beside him. Staring at the sky, Eddie attempted to make shapes of the few clouds that weren’t amassed in the perpetual gray.

“You know, that probably means you should let yourself cry more often,” Richie suggested, holding up his hands in surrender immediately after. Eddie chose not to respond, content with relaxing so close to him. Richie radiated warmth, which came as a surprise.

_Edward was ice cold._

Shoving the thought back, Eddie closed his eyes and slipped into a fresh sense of calm. He hadn’t been this relaxed since he emancipated himself. Talking to Richie came remarkably easy, and although he couldn’t put his finger on _why_ , he supposed he didn’t care.

Eddie didn’t keep track of how long they lied together, but enough time passed for his stomach to growl and interrupt their silence.

“Geez, I hope I packed enough,” Richie teased, snickering when Eddie elbowed his side. Removing neatly packed containers from the basket, he passed the larger one over. Popping off the lid, Eddie snorted when he saw the contents. “My sister made the chicken, so I promise you won’t get salmonella.” The roasted piece of meat lied atop two pieces of bread, with a fresh bed of lettuce and a packet of sauce on the side. Eagerly assembling the sandwich, he took a generous bite, pleasantly surprised by how satisfying it was.

“Compliments to your sister. This is really good,” he said, his cheek full of food. Richie smiled, opening his own lunch. Eddie’s brow furrowed; his neck craned as he tried to get a better view of whatever Richie was eating. From what he could see, the container carried nothing but a sweaty-looking, brown slab. “What is… _that_?” He didn’t want to accuse the jiggly loaf of being _shit_ , but he couldn’t entirely rule the possibility out.

Laughing, Richie held the food closer for Eddie to inspect.

“It’s a special kind of tofu. I have stomach issues that act up every so often, so I’m on a restrictive diet until I’m back to normal,” he explained. Sheepish, Eddie nodded in understanding. If anyone could relate to food allergies, _he_ could. Rather than fall into a pit of comparing himself to Sonia, however, he observed Richie cut the slab into bite sized pieces. “I’m hoping this won’t affect our making out later.” Immediately taken aback, Eddie’s face flushed – he suspected his skin glowed a bright red. Pushing his shoulder, Eddie resumed eating.

Rather than listen to the sounds of their chewing (and honestly, the stomach turning squish of Richie’s tofu), Eddie fetched his phone and turned on his music.

“I’ll skip until we can agree on one,” he said, swiping through the first few artists. Richie fought a smile with each passing tune; Eddie could tell he wasn’t a fan of anything he played. Then, at last, he reached an old Kesha song, and Richie nodded.

“Her energy is everything I aspire to be,” he said, allowing a moment to pass before explaining, “Sexy trash.” Snorting just as he prepared to drink, Eddie shook his head. He offered Richie the phone, allowing him to add to the queue.

For another half hour, they listened to music. Richie’s taste reminded Eddie of his own: all over the place. He leaned more towards classic rock, but Eddie got the feeling he held back. He played mostly harmless songs – none of which held any special attachment to Frank. Eddie was honestly relieved though; he didn’t want to cry twice in one date.

“You know, we’re moving kinda fast,” Eddie blurted, his thoughts flowing freely with no filter. Richie’s brow rose, and he looked at Eddie questioningly. “You already know my trauma, and it’s only been like… a week, since we met.” Laughing, almost uncontrollably, Richie wrapped an arm around Eddie’s shoulders.

“And yet you haven’t asked a single thing about _my_ trauma; honestly, you’re a terrible date,” Richie teased, snickering when Eddie pushed him off. Both of them laughed, the sound fading as the next song began. Tapping his foot, Eddie hummed along, mumbling the words under his breath.

He loved the song, but he messed up the lyrics _at least_ fifty percent of the time.

“I’ll be your cinnamon secret,” he muttered, fully knowing he said the wrong words. He could only hope this was one of the songs Richie didn’t know. Stealing a glance up at him-

_Fuck._

Richie’s mouth twisted as he fought back laughter.

“Did you say cinnamon secret?” he asked, knowing the answer. Eddie huffed, turning his back on Richie. His cheeks burned, with the flush rushing to his neck and ears. His mouth open and shut, but no words would come out for several seconds. Richie snorted, unable to hold back any longer.

“I know the _real_ lyric; I just- I heard it as cinnamon secret and it’s hard to shake that!” Eddie shouted defensively, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Lying on the blanket, his hands on his sides, Richie continued to laugh for another minute. His attempts to stop were in vain; giggles would erupt the second Eddie thought he might finally relax. “It’s not _that_ funny!” Looking towards the bridge, he briefly considered leaving.

“Wait, wait-” Rushing into a sitting position, Richie grabbed Eddie’s elbow, prying it loose. “I’m sorry. I thought it was really cute-”

“I’m not cute!” Eddie cried, the blush remaining in his cheeks. Frowning, Richie rose to his feet, staring at Eddie with curiosity and, surprisingly, concern.

“Do you think I’m lying?” Richie asked, tilting his head. Sucking in a sharp breath, Eddie hesitated with an answer. He didn’t want to elicit an onslaught of obligatory compliments to make him “feel better,” nor did he want to outright lie.

Of course, he couldn’t be entirely sure he was lying. He considered himself perfectly average; he tried extremely hard to look cute, but he didn’t see his efforts paying off when he looked in the mirror. His genes weren’t necessarily in his favor, either. Sonia refused to take care of herself; she kept her stringy, greasy hair in a ponytail, and wore ill-fitting dresses. She had a face like a mule, with a personality to match. Sometimes, Eddie would mentally play connect-the-dots with the scars and moles on her face. Frank, on the other hand, was frail _before_ the cancer took hold of his body. He was a fourth of Sonia’s size, with bushy hair and a pointed, hollow face.

Handsome was absolutely out of the question for Eddie, so he aimed for cute.

But as soon as someone claimed he was, he adamantly refused the compliment.

Truthfully, he couldn’t explain why.

“I- no, I just- I don’t know,” Eddie sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I’m not used to hearing stuff like that. Flirting, I mean. I’m not good at it, nor can I tell when someone’s trying.” Adding a laugh, which didn’t sound convincing at all, he bit his lip as Richie approached him.

“May I?” he asked, lifting his hand so there was only an inch of space between his fingertips and Eddie’s face. Gulping, Eddie nodded, his chin brushing against Richie’s index finger. Without missing a beat, Richie tilted Eddie’s chin back up, turning his face slowly to the left, then the right. “I don’t know what you’re missing. I see thick, silky brown hair that’s been well cared for. Your eyebrows are also pretty thick, but you keep them shaped nicely above your eyes – which, by the way, are somehow innocent and sexy at the same time.” His fingertip slid down Eddie’s jawline, coming up to brush his earlobe. “Your face is shaped like a heart, and it’s unblemished and round. Your lips are… pretty kissable, considering how pouty they always are.” His face was closer than Eddie expected; he could feel the warmth of Richie’s breath tickling his nose. “You’re quite the twink.”

_Ugh, why?!_

Grimacing, Eddie shook his head, freeing himself from Richie’s hold. For a second, Richie truly had him in a trance. However, he knew precisely what to say to ruin the moment. Regardless of whether or not he was being stupid, Eddie continued to feel the ghost of Richie’s hands on his face. Glancing at him, he realized they were still close enough to touch. Richie’s grin never wavered.

The hairs on Eddie’s arms stood up; he swallowed thickly, once again finding himself willfully trapped in Richie’s embrace. He just couldn’t figure out why Richie was taking so damn long to kiss him.

Overhead, thunder rumbled. Lightning flashed, brightening up a drastically black and purple sky. Eddie turned his head, seeing the harmless overcast miles away. He didn’t notice when their already limited light diminished to almost nothing.

“Come on. We should go before we get soaked,” Richie said, draping the picnic blanket around Eddie’s head and shoulders. “As much as I’d like to get you wet-”

“Shut up!” Eddie pushed his shoulder, following close behind as Richie led them back through the woods and towards his bike. Richie held his hand the entire way, occasionally brushing his thumb over Eddie’s knuckles.

Rain began to pour as soon as they reached Richie’s motorcycle. Eddie could see the wall of water rapidly approaching from down the highway, and he hurriedly strapped on his helmet. He held onto Richie as tightly as he could, grateful that there were no complaints about his grip. As much as he didn’t like the idea of driving in the rain, he didn’t doubt Richie’s capability to get them home safely.

Resting his head in the center of Richie’s back, Eddie smiled to himself.

All day, he relaxed with ease and in a state of comfort which had previously been unfamiliar. He _enjoyed_ talking to Richie, even if he didn’t like what they spoke about. He had to admit, Richie made him comfortable and secure in ways he had never been before. Eddie liked the new feelings; he wanted to experience more of them, and he wanted to keep seeing Richie.

Ahead of them on the highway, Eddie listened to cars speeding by and swerving into the lane beside them. His eyes squeezed shut; he figured there were only so many minutes before they were off the dangerous stretch of road. He didn’t need to panic.

“EDDIE!”

_Strange,_ he thought, hearing only white noise. He swore Richie called his name, but he also had never heard Richie scream so violently. As he did earlier, Eddie believed the wind was carrying him away. His eyes were closed, so he couldn’t tell, but he would’ve believed it if someone said he was flying.

A vicious screech of metal scraping against metal filled his ears, nearly bursting the drums. Flinching, Eddie opened his eyes and realized he was upside down. Rainwater blurred the vision through his visor, and his ears continued to ring. Trying to lift his arm was futile; the limb was nothing more than deadweight. He expected to feel pain.

Richie’s bike lied overturned beside him, and Richie was on his knees, sitting Eddie against the guardrail. Cars were honking; tires screeched and Eddie heard another unbearable scrape and crash of metal. He couldn’t keep his head up as Richie pulled off the helmet, though he could confidently say the cold rain felt nice on his skin.

Seeing double of everything, Eddie blinked several times. Shapes became blurs of color, and his ears suddenly seemed plugged with cotton.

“Eddie, you’re gonna be okay,” Richie said, though his voice sounded as blurred and distorted as everything in Eddie’s immediate vision. Light began to fade; Eddie slowly closed his eyes without fully realizing. He licked his lips, grimacing at the metallic taste on his tongue.

_Drink this._

Uncertain of whether or not he imagined the words, Eddie obeyed the command. He tasted rain, but the remnants of iron and dirt remained.

Closing his eyes, he heard the distant wails of sirens. Though he didn’t have the energy to look, he swore he could see the bright blue and red lights from the crack of his left eyelid.

“ _I’m fine, please – just check on him.”_

“ _Get him on a stretcher!”_

At once, Eddie’s body became weightless. He thought perhaps he was finally flying, as he gave into the darkness and fell asleep.

* * *

Waking up from a deep slumber never came easily to Eddie. He knew he was awake before his eyes opened – a brightness surrounded the cracks, and immediately he understood he didn’t _want_ to look. Attempting to turn his body, he was met with ultimate resistance. His arms and legs were lead weights; he was barely able to lift his head.

As quickly as panic set in, however, his body obeyed and turned on the thin mattress. This wasn’t his bed.

“Eddie!” The familiar voice made him open his eyes, and it didn’t take but a second for them to adjust. Patty stood beside him, concerned and relieved all at once. Stan placed a hand on her shoulder, worry lines prominent on his forehead.

“What happened?” he asked, scouring his brain for any memories of how he landed in a hospital bed. A siren played on loop in his mind, accompanied by cars crashing and Richie shouting his name. “Car-”

“- accident,” Stan and Eddie said together. Twisting his torso to see what lied on his other side, he reached for the remote to the TV, nearly knocking over a lamp. “Eddie, relax. You’re gonna be sore.” Ignoring Stan’s suggestion, he turned on the local news. Sure enough, footage of the van Eddie saw sliding by them played onscreen. The guardrail had been burst through, which explained the screams of ripping metal.

Richie’s bike dangled precariously on the edge; one strong gust of wind would throw it off the overpass.

“Where’s Richie?” Eddie asked abruptly, jerking his head around to search the room. Stan held Eddie down against the bed, his brow knit together. His eyes were full of alarm, and deep in the hazel irises, Eddie saw confusion.

“His sister picked him up. I- We-” Glancing at Patty, he cleared his throat and straightened up. “He seemed okay, but I think he could be in shock. He didn’t wanna leave until you woke up, but his sister…” His voice trailed off, but Eddie stopped listening when he understood Richie wasn’t there. Disappointed, he sank lower into the bed.

_As long as he’s okay,_ he thought, breathing in deeply. The idea of visiting Richie drifted through his mind, but Eddie didn’t know where he lived. Chewing his bottom lip, he racked his brains for any ideas. Perhaps there had been some kind of hint given during their date.

Stan continued to watch him, the confusion growing more plain as seconds ticked by. In Eddie’s peripheral vision, he noticed Patty slip her hand into Stan’s. She vocalized his thoughts before he could, sitting them back down at Eddie’s bedside.

“You’re both… insanely lucky to have survived without a scratch,” she said. Frowning, Eddie looked from her, to the TV, then finally his own body. He felt perfectly fine; no aches or pains, and as she said, not a single scratch. “The nurses said it was impossible, but they couldn’t find any problems with you or Richie.” She glanced at Stan, as if knowing he had more to add.

“He said you guys were clipped, and you hit your head when you fell. The van barely missed, and Richie saw the accident happen _around_ you,” Stan recounted in obvious disbelief. For a minute, nobody said anything. Sighing, Stan reached out to squeeze Eddie’s arm. “I’m glad you’re okay. Don’t you dare drive a stupid motorcycle in the rain again.” Laughing, Eddie held up his pinky and nodded.

“I don’t plan on it,” he said, amazed at how easily the words fell from his lips. The last time he woke up in a hospital, his voice was hoarse. He fell down the stairs and screamed at the pain in his broken arm until he passed out. For this particular accident, he couldn’t remember anything. As hard as he tried, all he could recall were the sirens and tires squealing.

“We should check on the house,” Patty said, interrupting the brief silence. Eddie frowned, tilting his head questioningly. “We panicked when Richie called us! I didn’t think to lock up or anything…” Stan snorted, rubbing her back soothingly.

“It’s not like there’s anything worth stealing,” he muttered. Eddie’s jaw dropped, his eyes narrowing as he mocked offense. Snickering, Stan held up his hands lamely, hardly trying to defend himself. “Is there anything you need before we go? We’ll come right back with a change of clothes; they’ll probably discharge you if they let Richie leave.” Considering the option, Eddie pulled the blanket higher over his chest and shook his head.

“I think I should stay overnight. Just in case anything changes. Like you said, it could be shock,” Eddie said. Stan’s small smile was impossible to hide. Relief came not solely from Eddie waking up, but from his caution. He wouldn’t be Eddie Kaspbrak without the least bit of overthinking. As fine as Eddie felt, he didn’t want to risk having a surprise hemorrhage on the steps of the hospital.

“Alright!” Stan shouted, chuckling as he whirled around. “He’s fine.” Patty giggled, following him to the door.

“Wait,” Eddie called after them, sitting up again. Sheepishly, he stared at his hands. “Can you tell the nurses to send in milk and cookies, if they have it?” He craved a snack, and if the clock on the wall read correctly, he didn’t want anything heavy after ten. Stan stared at him incredulously, his face scrunching.

“One brush with death wasn’t enough?” he asked. Confused, one brow cocked, Patty waited for an explanation. Eddie watched them, utmost sincerity on his face. He wanted sweets, and milk washed cookies down better than anything else. Exchanging a look with his girlfriend, Stan explained, “He’s lactose intolerant. Violently so, I would say.” Rolling his eyes, Eddie threw one of his pillows at them, amazed when the nearly weightless lump managed to hit the door.

“Just send a snack, _please_ ,” Eddie whined, crossing his arms and slumping back down. Stan held his thumb up, disappearing with Patty into the hallway. While he waited, Eddie adjusted his bed and searched for something to watch other than the news. From what little he gleamed off the broadcast, there were no casualties.

_Looks like everyone got lucky,_ he thought, flipping over to a movie channel.

Several minutes later, a nurse wheeled in a small tray of vanilla wafers and a carton of strawberry milk from the cafeteria. Eddie thanked her and nibbled quietly on his cookies, thoroughly distracted by the movie.

He caught the film midway through, and all he could understand was that a questionably straight teen was more obsessed with his hunky neighbors than his love interest. Only when a book on hunting the supernatural was shown did Eddie realize this was yet _another_ vampire movie. The main character believed his neighbors – two extremely obvious lovers – Billy and Jerry were undead, and after his blood.

Rolling his eyes at the premise, Eddie ate and drank mindlessly.

By the time the movie ended, he expected to need his private bathroom.

Grateful he wouldn’t have to share, he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. The credits rolled, but his stomach didn’t make any usual gurgles. He felt as fine as he had all night. Belching, he half expected his breath to have turned rancid – the milk would find a way out somehow.

Nothing but vanilla and a faded hint of strawberry wafted into his nose.

Shrugging, Eddie returned to bed, snuggling under the covers. He didn’t take long to fall asleep, soothed by the sounds of rain hitting his window.

_I should enjoy the comfort while it lasts_ , he thought, pulling the sheets tighter over his body. As soon as he breathed the air outside, his allergies would make him wish he were dead. Or at least in a full body cast, still in his hospital room.

But morning came, and as Stan playfully sprinted while pushing Eddie in a wheelchair, he breathed easily. The double doors slid open, fresh air hitting his face, and nothing changed. His nose didn’t stuff up with gunk and goo, his head didn’t want to burst at the seams, and his throat didn’t tickle and tingle uncomfortably. As a matter of fact, breathing came easier than he remembered.

“You okay, Eddie? You can’t still be in shock!” Patty exclaimed, shaking his shoulders. Eddie blinked, forcing a small laugh.

“I guess I am,” he mumbled, sliding into the backseat of Stan’s car. While he and Patty talked about picking up lunch, Eddie rested his chin in his palm. Staring out of the window, he chewed skin off his lip as he thought about the accident.

His eyes had been shut the whole time, but he heard when the first car lost control. He knew from how his body jerked – something wasn’t right. Holding on to Richie was all he could do as they spun out of control, and they hit a stop so hard, he was surprised his neck didn’t snap.

After that, he couldn’t remember. Somehow he ended up on the pavement, but he didn’t know how, _especially_ if there were no scratches. He checked his body before Stan arrived; there wasn’t so much as a blemish on his abruptly healthy skin. Of course, Eddie hadn’t inspected his body in quite some time… but he could’ve sworn there were a couple scars on his shoulder.

A car sped past them in the opposite direction, and Eddie jumped in his seat.

“ _Drink this, Eddie. You’re gonna be okay,” Richie said._

Gulping, his eyes bulging, Eddie’s fingertips tentatively reached up to touch his lips.

_Richie frantically searched their immediate area, picking up a broken piece of someone’s windshield. He cut into his palm, blood pouring out into a tiny pool. Eddie couldn’t move; his entire body was paralyzed. He wanted to shake his head and reject Richie’s offer, but he didn’t truly know what it was. Confusion took over, half from the accident, and half from what he was witnessing._

Eddie stared at his hands, realizing he _had_ seen something else before losing all his focus. His nails were chipped and his palms were scraped from when he fell off the bike.

They were smooth and perfectly fine now.

“ _You’re gonna be okay. I promise,” Richie whispered, kissing Eddie’s forehead as he fed him blood from his own hand._

His eye twitched and he was abruptly aware of his options. He could scream, alarming Stan and possibly veering them into oncoming traffic. If Stan didn't lose control of the car, he would have to explain himself, and sound as insane as Bill. Perhaps Stan would turn right around and have Eddie evaluated. His other options included talking to Richie. Questioning him about a ludicrous - and possibly falsified - memory could've very well resulted in an end to their dating.

The third option included forgetting all about it, and pretending nothing was wrong.

Eddie's lips parted and a forceful scream rose in his throat, only to come out as a quiet, weak: "What the _fuck_?"


	6. Richie Tries His Best

Perched on the edge of his seat, uncomfortably stiff, Richie fought hard to appear engaged with the classroom discussion. What started out as a brief overview of Frida Kahlo, transformed into a handful of students commenting on her terrible marriage to Diego Rivera, and the slandering of female artists in history. Richie knew they were absolutely right; he had seen the injustice with his own two eyes.

Sort of.

His mother saw them. He simply viewed the memory through her lens.

Their special gifts – super powers, as he used to call them – were tricky to explain, and even trickier to study. His mother could show anyone _anything_. As simple as it sounded, that was her gift, and Richie was thankful. Rather than drone on about a history he held little interest for, she would touch his forehead and he could see every single detail as if he were there in her shoes.

He stood in her exact spot when their town treaty was signed. He helped build the house which their coven now resided in. He sat on his late grandfather’s lap while he explained The Rules.

Maggie Tozier showed him everything he would need to know in order to survive. She did the same for his sister who (by all accounts) was not a sibling by blood, but by choice. Richie considered this more meaningful; most siblings didn’t have a say in the matter. He actively chose Beverly everyday, and he believed he would until they reached the end of their time.

_If_ they reached it.

Licking his lips, Richie shut his eyes and grimaced. An oncoming headache began stabbing at his temples; the tension rippled through his brain, pushing against the boundaries of his skull. There were too many voices – he couldn’t stop the ones speaking out loud, and the only one he wanted to hear was racing at a mile a minute.

Eddie sat two tables away, scribbling mindlessly in his notebook. On the outside, he seemed calm and contemplative of the discourse at hand. His head tilted inquisitively, as if his thoughts were profound and would’ve added an enlightenment to the conversation.

However, Richie knew the truth.

The lengthy page of notes were all about _him_.

_Does sunlight burn, make skin sparkle, or exhaust a vampire? Is he an animal only vampire; can he eat normal people food? Will garlic poison him or is that a myth (research “food allergy” and “brown tofu”)? Does holy water have any effect? Can he see his reflection (find way to use phone for test)? In the 2013 Netflix original “Hemlock Grove,” the lead vampire was able to quench his thirst for blood by performing oral-_

Richie grimaced at the thought Eddie shoved onto him, pinching the bridge of his nose as he attempted to tune everything out. Eddie’s laundry list of questions were amusing, but also somewhat concerning. Sure, he and Bill were right about the existence of vampires.

But they were still crazy.

Although, Richie had to admit, he liked seeing Eddie enjoy himself. As deep down as the feelings were, Richie sensed he was having fun with his detective work. Somewhere between their accident, and his return to class, Eddie threw all care to the wind. There were invasive thoughts every so often about how foolish the concept of vampires was, and how he only sought after the fantasy to hide from a painful reality, but he mostly ignored that particular voice. Richie found his constant comparison to his mother interesting; whoever Sonia Kaspbrak was, she certainly did a number on her son.

He could see Eddie breaking out of the shell she tried tirelessly to case him in, but Richie suspected he was scared to completely come out. Even with his gift of hearing every single thought to run through Eddie’s mind, there was a lot he couldn’t piece together. As vivid as Eddie’s daydreams were, he was also capable of hiding information from himself.

Richie never knew another human capable of working their mind in such a fascinating way.

_If Edward Cullen had no blood in his body, how did he manage to form an erection?_

Eddie somehow made the most absurd thoughts the loudest. Eyes bulging, Richie bit the inside of his cheek, drawing the tiniest droplet of stale blood. At the exact moment his expression gave him away, Eddie chose to steal a glance. His own eyes widened, and he furiously scribbled loops and lines on his paper to look busy. His thoughts went haywire, worsening Richie’s headache.

_Oh God, he can hear my thoughts can’t he? Oh God, oh my God – maybe he can’t. Don’t think of anything weird. Naked grannies. Don’t, stop it- Richie, hold up two fingers if you can hear me. IDIOT. He’s not gonna out himself. Fuck, what if he can hear me._ Eddie’s mind moved rapidly, with no sign of slowing. His poker face didn’t exist – if Richie didn’t have the capability of hearing all his thoughts, he would’ve assumed Eddie needed an emergency trip to the bathroom.

Grimacing, Richie was left with no choice but to admit his sister was right. Beverly suggested avoiding Eddie until he was ready to talk to him; she went as far as to offer using _her_ powers. As tempting as the idea was of wiping the slate clean, he didn’t want Eddie to forget him. Perhaps the reasoning was selfish, but they _were_ soulmates.

“Five more minutes,” he mumbled under his breath, his words barely audible with his classmates all speaking over each other. At his table, Eddie continued to think as loudly as possible, checking for any reactions from Richie. He desperately wanted an aspirin, which he had used the first few times he listened to Eddie’s rampage of imagination, but he couldn’t risk being caught. Eddie was trying to think of his best joke, and Richie poured all of his focus into keeping a straight face. Though, he didn’t expect Eddie to come up with too many zingers.

_What’s the difference between a chickpea and a garbanzo bean? I’ve never paid to have a garbanzo bean on me,_ Eddie thought, effectively proving Richie wrong.

The corners of his mouth instantly shot up, but he twisted the smile in an effort to hide. Eddie’s timid doe eyes were wide with alarm. Harshly biting the inside of his cheek, Richie’s mind filled with expletives. He couldn’t be held accountable for Eddie knowing great jokes. Blowing out a gust of air, Richie searched his pockets for aspirin. His brain beat against his skull with the same energy a linebacker would use to break a door down.

At long last, the bell rang, dismissing class for the afternoon.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Richie swiftly exited the room, disappearing before anyone else could take three steps from their table. Behind him, he heard Eddie’s frantic thoughts, as well as his shouts for Richie to wait. Freezing for a split second, he considered his options again. He thought about them for the entire night after their accident, and every moment afterward.

Huffing, he shook off his hesitation and continued to briskly march across campus. Eddie, however, was unrelenting. He ran to keep up with Richie, finally reaching out to grab his arm.

“Richie, why are you ignoring me?” Eddie demanded, the anger of his question completely mismatched with his wide-eyed, pained expression. As much as Richie knew of the contrary, Eddie allowed himself to appear fragile. Though he tried to sift through Eddie’s thoughts for the intention, he found nothing – Eddie wasn’t aware of how he looked through Richie’s eyes.

Out of all the times he compared himself to Sonia, questioning his own intent and whether or not he was manipulative, he never once considered it now. Richie knew Eddie was nothing like his mother (at least from what he understood through their time together, and all the memories he would play on loop), and he paused, if only out of tired frustration that Eddie couldn’t believe in himself.

“I-“ Richie’s words died in his throat. The pleading and worry lines in Eddie’s face rendered him silent. Swallowing thickly, Richie looked away for a moment while he collected himself. “I’m sorry. I just… feel really guilty about the accident. I didn’t want you to be mad at me.” Rooted somewhat in truth, the fib came easily to Richie. Though, he couldn’t help but feel lingering doubt.

_You know you can’t. This is crazy,_ he thought, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Only a day after discovering Eddie was his soulmate, Richie became overwhelmed with the urge to tell him everything. From how he grew up, the history of his kind, and his hopes for the future, he wanted to share each detail with Eddie. For the first time in his life, a semblance of hope formed inside him – though for what, he wasn’t ready to confess.

“Oh…” Eddie’s shoulders slumped; his thoughts transformed into a flurry of guilt and self-doubt. He began questioning his sanity for the fifteenth time, and Richie’s stomach twisted into knots. Against his better judgement, he gripped Eddie’s shoulders, his eyes darting around to make sure nobody was within earshot.

“Can we go somewhere private? I- We should talk,” Richie blurted, internally screaming at himself. There were specific rules he was meant to follow, but he was never good at staying in line. Most of the rules he broke were harmless, anyways. He only broke one significant law in his life, and he and Beverly were _still_ paying for it.

But revealing himself to Eddie? Not as cut and dried of a command as "don't kill anyone."

He knew the entire situation was complicated, but he didn’t want anything with Eddie to be that way.

_Oh God, he’s breaking up with me, isn’t he? I didn’t even officially get asked to be in a relationship and it’s already over!_

Yet again, regardless of whether or not Richie could hear Eddie’s inner voice, his panicked expression gave him away.

“Sure,” he answered, masking any distress in his voice. Most of his lying was probably done over the phone - his voice was believable. “We can go to my house, if you want. I’ll drive.” Richie didn’t remove his hands. Eddie didn’t notice until a minute later, when neither of them had made any motion of leaving the empty hallway they stood in. Tilting his head, he stared up at Richie questioningly.

Richie envisioned himself kissing Eddie, and although his blood tasted rancid, he could appreciate the pulse through Eddie’s veins. He imagined his lips on Eddie’s throat, where one puncture could create a gory freefall.

“I wanna kiss you so bad,” he said thoughtlessly, his eyes trained on Eddie’s lips. Although Richie expected an avalanche of thought from Eddie, he certainly didn’t expect what he heard.

_I’m a virgin!_

Eddie screamed the sentence – a mental equivalent to a neon sign in bold, block letters. He became sheepish the same moment Richie’s brow rose in bewilderment. Clearing his throat, swinging his keyring around his finger, Eddie motioned towards the exit.

“Thanks, we should go,” he mumbled, walking towards the parking lot.

_Thanks? THANKS?!_

As Eddie chastised himself, Richie followed, keeping an eye out for his sister or – God forbid – his mother. He had tentative plans on what steps to take next, but it heavily relied on them staying in the dark about his time with Eddie until he was ready.

Fortunately, the drive was quiet. While Richie tried to work out a plan with his mother, Eddie managed to distract himself with driving. His thoughts were focused, but in the background, his daydreams bloomed. They were loud enough for Richie to settle into, as if listening to the radio in Eddie’s car. He succeeded in relaxing, fending off the lingering aches from his head.

As they turned into Eddie’s lonely street, Richie straightened up in his seat. Driving through Derry took only a matter of minutes, but he expected to have _some_ idea of how he would start the conversation. He never had to gingerly ease someone into the existence of vampires; he never believed he would have to. When he first met Eddie, he didn’t fully think he would _want_ to.

A confession of this wild magnitude deserved grace. Caution.

Eddie already had a pile of evidence. Richie was merely validating the claims.

“Vampires are real,” he said, the words tumbling out with no fore or afterthought. His eyes were wide, his lips parted as he mentally shrieked. Impatience bested him, and Eddie cut the engine. Slowly turning to look at him, he cocked a brow. “You think I’m a vampire, and I’m telling you they’re real.” Clearly taken aback, Eddie fumbled with his keys. “You were writing notes all throughout class.” Richie bit his lip, if only to hold back whatever could’ve possibly been left for him to say.

Eddie’s eyes shut, mild relief replacing his confusion.

_He saw my notes. That’s all he’s talking about_ , he thought. Kissing his teeth, Richie breathed out exasperatedly. Eddie went back and forth so much on his motivations, Richie didn’t have the faintest idea what he truly desired. His effort to make an entire, color-coded page of evidence and suspicions would’ve suggested he took his accusation seriously. His thoughts completely betrayed him, however. He consistently undercut himself - one of the few habits he rarely blamed Sonia for, but had every right to.

“You’re funny,” he said as dryly as he could, stepping out of the car. Perplexed, Richie hurriedly followed him to the porch, grabbing his wrist before he could unlock the door.

“Ask me anything on your list. Please,” Richie begged, amazed at how quick he was to emotionally fall at Eddie’s feet. He wanted Eddie to believe in him, yes, but also to believe in his _own_ ideas. Yanking his hand away, Eddie sucked in a breath.

“I don’t like being made fun of,” he said, a slight edge to his words. Frowning, Richie shook his head.

“I’m not making fun of you!” His hands flew to his hair, and he tugged at the loose curls, amazed at how rapidly the conversation changed direction. They were arguing. Eddie started the day believing Richie was a vampire, Richie confirmed their existence, and now they were arguing.

While Eddie appeared defensive, Richie sensed deep down he didn’t fully commit. He trusted Richie.

“How come you bled when Bill punched you? And the sunlight? You don’t glitter or turn to dust!” he argued, pointing out the few bullet points he made against his own case. Searching through his bag, Eddie pulled out the notebook, flipping to his last page.

“I _have_ blood. None of it was originally mine,” Richie replied easily. In that moment, he realized he was probably the _worst_ person to teach anyone about vampires. He only knew as much as his mother showed him.

Actually, he only knew as much as he cared to pay attention to.

Eddie’s eyes narrowed, and his finger slid down the paper to his next question. Glancing from Richie to the page, he asked, “And the sunlight part?” Untucking his amulet from the inside of his shirt, Richie dangled it for Eddie to see.

“Silver amulet. It’s like a super sunblock. SPF ten trillion,” Richie said, a slight smugness in his voice. He couldn’t help it – Eddie’s own cocky smile, as if he hadn’t spent the last hour wrestling with his thoughts on the supernatural, dragged the competitiveness out.

Confused, Eddie skimmed through his notes again.

“I thought silver killed vampires,” he said, tilting his head. His toned softened – Richie almost thought he forgot about his defensive stance. However, at the last second, he crossed his arms and twisted his mouth into a pout. Scratching the back of his head, Richie hesitated. This was one of the questions he couldn’t answer with complete certainty.

“From what I remember, we have a weird relationship with silver. Like, it can kill us if it’s in the shape of a bullet or knife, but it doesn’t hurt to touch,” he explained, sounding unsure even to himself. His mother told him how the properties of certain metals were reactive to their skin. He remembered when she showed him, but he also remembered staring off into space and thinking about his next adventure outside of town. His last memory of the lesson was how she snapped her hard fingers too close, and the sound sent unpleasant vibrations against his eardrum.

_This is bullshit._

Eddie’s eyes remained narrowed to slits – Richie wasn’t sure if he could even see anymore.

“You ate food when we were on our date,” he said flatly, as if this proved anything. Unable to resist grinning, knowing perfectly well how annoyed Eddie would get, Richie nodded in agreement.

“Blood tofu. Coagulated pig blood. The easiest stuff to get your hands on,” he replied with a shrug. The truth was always the easiest to tell, but it was especially satisfying now. At least until images of the Twilight vampires flashed through Eddie’s mind. His arms dropped to his sides, his face scrunched as he thought over his next question.

“So you’re like… a vegetarian vampire?” On the inside, Eddie wanted to cringe over the question. Richie saw no reason for him not to do so outwardly.

“It’s not like Twilight, but yeah, I suppose,” he replied, frowning. Hopping onto the railing, Richie wobbled for a moment before finding his balance. He clutched the weak wood, his legs swinging freely through the gaps. “Humans got a few things right; I can tell you that right now. There’s a lot across different cultures and regions. I know there’s some old Hebrew texts that mention using silver amulets to ward off a blood drinking demon. I think there’s some African lore that says we can turn into fireflies. Now that’s true, but it just so happens to be the easiest thing to turn into. Personally, I can manage a firefly, bat, and wolf.” The more incredulous Eddie became, the less forethought Richie put into his actions.

Although he couldn't place his finger exactly on what it was, Eddie heaved the excitable recklessness from deep within Richie. He hadn't enjoyed himself this much in years, now that he thought about it.

Jumping off his seat, Richie allowed his body to melt away, shifting into a smaller form. His bones weighed heavily on him; changing his body required a few seconds of adjustment - which was significantly better than what he used to need. Whenever he first tried shapeshifting, he somehow always got stuck with extra hair in places he didn't want or need it. Waving his arms, which were now wings, he blew small gusts of air in Eddie’s direction.

In the split second he vanished, replaced by a significantly more tiny animal, Eddie shrieked. He stumbled backwards across the porch, falling on his bottom and frantically crawling away from where Richie once stood. His screaming persisted as he yanked himself up, panicked as he tried to climb over the railing.

Richie couldn’t blame Eddie for the reaction. In hindsight, he probably could’ve warned him of what he was about to do. Eddie lived blissfully ignorant in his perceived reality, and Richie harshly shattered his entire world. If his mind never caught up, he couldn’t be faulted. He was only human, after all. The forceful shove into the truth may have been mean, but that wasn’t Richie’s intent. He viewed his action more as tough love.

The truth was a hard pill to swallow, but Eddie deserved to know: he was right.

Returning to his normal, human body, he shoved his hands in his pockets. Staring apologetically at Eddie (though they were far beyond a simple “sorry” at this point), he backed away to offer more space. Trembling, Eddie slipped and fell into the grass, cutting his palm on a rock. Hissing, he winced and yanked his hand back, suddenly alarmed at the sight of blood. His eyes darted to Richie, but when he made no motion of lunging at him, Eddie relaxed.

“Ask me anything you want. I’ll leave, if you prefer, but I really do wanna talk to you about this. I also wanna fix your hand – not because I have some primal, uncontrollable need to drink blood, but because you look hella uncomfortable,” Richie said, holding up his hands in a sign of surrender.

_How long has “hella” been a word? Is he just that good at assimilating or..? How old is he?_

Eddie’s eyes were narrowed suspiciously again, though his defensiveness decreased dramatically. Walking around the porch, he came back up the steps and entered the house, pausing halfway into the living room before glancing back at Richie.

“Do you need an invitation every time?” he asked, somewhat incredulous. Richie stood in the doorway, a soft grin on his face. Shaking his head, crossing the threshold, he held out his arms as if presenting a grand announcement. Watching him for a few seconds, Eddie’s mouth twisted into a small pout. He ripped his gaze away only to find a bathroom and wash his cut, hurriedly placing a towel over the gash. Upon rejoining Richie in the living room, he was calculative in the seat he chose. Ultimately, he played a safe game and kept his distance – though not as much as he could have. “I have a whole list of receipts – you haven’t been subtle, if you’re trying to hide the vampirism thing.” Snorting, Richie sank deeper into the recliner.

“Okay. Run everything by me and we’ll talk,” he offered, motioning his hand for Eddie to go on. Inhaling slowly, Eddie chewed his bottom lip as he gathered his thoughts.

“You sucked on the cut I got during our first date. Maybe that’s not solid proof of anything, but it was weird contextually. Somehow you always seem to know what I’m thinking – or, at least you know what to say to me so it _feels_ that way. Bill seemed pretty convinced, and I haven’t found any reasons to argue with him, which has to mean he’s right. It can’t be that simple though, can it?” Eddie’s question was rhetoric; he didn’t pause long enough for Richie to begin thinking of a response. “The most damning evidence was the accident.” Again, in Eddie’s mind, he drew parallels to Twilight – much to Richie’s dismay. “You told me to drink something, and I realized what that was. Blood. Your blood. I remember tasting metal, and there was nothing else you could’ve given me. We finished everything from the picnic.” Averting his eyes, Richie thought back to their afternoon in the field.

Eddie was, again, entirely correct.

“What was damning about that?” Richie questioned, knowing the answer perfectly well. He wanted to hear Eddie say it. More so, he wanted _Eddie_ to hear himself. Hesitant, Eddie stared down at his hands. The bleeding stopped, a thin film already formed over his abrasion.

“I should’ve been injured. I couldn’t feel my legs when you were talking to me on the bridge, but then I woke up in the hospital and felt normal. _Better_ than normal. I had milk, which I never drink because I have such awful lactose intolerance, yet _nothing happened_. Nobody could explain why I wasn’t injured, or why my allergies weren’t acting up the next day. I’ve noticed I had more endurance, and I don’t drop my tools or phone as much,” Eddie rattled off his examples of strange happenings, his nose scrunching in confusion. Richie knew what he wanted to ask; the alarm from Eddie sank like a brick in Richie’s stomach. On the other hand, however, Richie wanted to be relieved.

_Am I a vampire now?_

If Eddie wanted to remain human, Richie completely respected his choice. He envied Eddie, as a matter of fact.

“You’re still human, Eds. I promise. Drinking my blood healed you – dramatically, I might add,” he explained. The inner workings of Eddie’s mind were interesting; he spun a Rolodex of pop culture, landing on a scary TV show.

_So, not like American Horror Story._

Richie almost blurted that he didn’t know what Eddie was talking about, but pursed his lips tighter. Eddie earned time to process his thoughts; dumping all the information at once wouldn’t help either of them. Considering he didn’t completely _know_ all the details, Richie supposed keeping quiet would work best until he was asked.

At the moment, he focused more on how relief and disappointment waged war within Eddie. He didn’t have time to question the emotions, however, as Eddie was ready to talk.

“So you can survive on animal blood? Do you ever eat people food?” All seriousness aside, Richie couldn’t help but think Eddie’s word choice was adorable. Cracking a smile, he nodded.

“I eat stuff like pizza and hot dogs for show. I have a normal digestive system – I have all the systems. I just don’t need them,” he said nonchalantly, rubbing his chin as he thought of any examples he had to offer. “These days, weird foods are trendy. It’s not difficult to get your hands on stuff like animal blood. People eat it for entertainment.” Eddie’s face scrunched as he considered the fact, realizing it to be true. Several dozen questions were floating through his head, but Richie expected him to have an idea of what he wanted to discuss next.

“And garlic? Is it poisonous for you? What about your eyes? How come they’re normal and not like, red? Does holy water burn? Can you see yourself in a mirror?”

Richie had been wrong before, and he supposed he shouldn’t have expected anything different now.

Thinking over each question, he decided to answer them as quickly as Eddie had asked. Listing everything on his fingers, he said, “Garlic is more like an allergy. I just feel uncomfortable if I eat any. Before you ask, I have no idea why. It’s not like we have vampire doctors.” At this, Eddie appeared slightly disgusted. He wasn’t comfortable in the slightest with a lack of medical care. “My eyes only turn red if I’m close to starving. I need at least a pint of human blood each month, or… from my understanding, bad things happen.” Richie hesitated, recalling the brutal images his mother shared with him.

“What do you mean by _bad_?” Eddie asked, tilting his head. The nerves were besting him again, though nothing would outweigh his curiosity. As much as he wanted to fluff up his answer, Richie knew there was little point. Eddie already knew what to expect.

“Massacres. There hasn’t been one since the 1800’s, in Europe. For the most part, I think we have the rules figured out. Only so many historians exist though, in our world. I’ve learned everything I know from my mom, and she learned everything from her grandfather. There isn’t much of an alternative,” Richie replied, chuckling humorlessly. He wished there _were_ more of an answer, but he took what he was given. Eddie sat quietly, the gears turning in his brain.

“You said… rules. And a pint? Why only that much?” His questions were decent; Richie didn’t know what to expect. His obsession with Twilight and other Hollywood vampires had Richie prepared with all the arguments to negate those fanciful stories.

“Yeah. Rules – like… I need at least a pint of human blood each month, before the full moon, or I’ll lose control of my hunger. I can supplement the rest with animal blood. I dunno why that is; maybe Vampire God made the measurements exactly a pint so that we could live off of human donations,” he joked, though part of him was serious. Before Eddie could add more to his pile of inquiries, Richie completed his initial batch of answers. “Also, holy water is a myth. No human can exist as a pure, holy deity. I _can_ see my reflection and show up in pictures; a lot of vampires make a career on Instagram lately. Not because we’re good looking, but because we’re _interesting_ to look at. I mean, honestly, you don’t find me attractive. Look at me, and I mean _really_ look.” Stretching his arms out, he twirled in a small circle to show himself off. He felt Eddie’s eyes on him, studying critically.

_I already thought he was cute. I_ _**know** _ _he’s cute, he’s not gonna change my mind just because he says he’s…_

From the way Eddie’s thoughts faded out, Richie knew he picked out the flaws.

_His teeth are a little uneven. Oh, he has buck teeth. His nose is kinda crooked. He’s a little_ _**too** _ _pale, but I guess it didn’t look good on Robert Pattinson either. Huh… I guess he_ _**is** _ _ug-_

Richie cleared his throat; he wanted Eddie to grasp the reality of the situation, but he didn’t have to be so mean about it. Running a hand through his hair, he stared at Eddie expectantly. Frowning, Eddie tried to fit all of the answers together in his head. Hesitating, he pulled his phone from his pocket and opened his Instagram app.

“Some of these people are _vampires_?” he asked incredulously, scrolling through suggested posts in the "explore" tab. Richie could see the reflection of images in his eyes, but also in his mind. Before he could focus elsewhere and prevent dizzying himself, Eddie showed him the phone. “Is he a vampire?” Grinding his teeth, he averted his gaze and rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “What about this one?” Continuing his search, Eddie picked out a handful of people.

“I’m technically not allowed to say. Not as like, a universal law, but my mother said it’s just common courtesy,” Richie lied sheepishly. Technically, he told a partial truth. His mother’s rules _were_ law for him, as she was the matriarch of their coven. He planned on explaining later, but merely achieving a trust with Eddie was enough for one afternoon. “Oh! By the way, that show you keep thinking about, Shamrock Groovy?” For a moment, Eddie’s brow furrowed in confusion.

Then the answer clicked, and he folded his arms over his chest and snorted, correcting Richie, “Hemlock Grove.” Richie stating he knew what Eddie thought about simply didn’t register.

That, or he chose to ignore it.

“Yeah. That’s _yucky_. I’m sure there’s vampires out there who can get down like that, but I’m not one of them. I imagine it’s like eating McDonalds everyday; at some point you’re gonna get cold nuggets,” Richie said, shuddering. Eddie gagged, turning away from him.

_Did I mention that show? Yes, I totally mentioned it. He’s trying to trick me; he’s really playing this straight. Is he taking acting classes?_

Huffing out a heavy sigh, Richie buried his face in his hands. He assumed he made progress, but he set records with how wrong he continued to be.

“Do you sleep?” Eddie questioned, stepping closer. He studied Richie’s face, noticing the dark circles under his eyes.

Unable to stop himself, Richie blurted, “If you’re lucky, you’ll see for yourself.” Freezing, Eddie stumbled backwards, recreating the distance between them. For a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. The thoughts in Eddie’s mind bounced and jumbled too rapidly for Richie to successfully decipher.

Then, when Richie neither expected nor believed in it, Eddie bridged the gap between them with a frantic urgency. He hesitated at the last second, a slight pause as he gripped the collar of Richie’s coat – but ultimately, he gave in. Pressing his lips against Richie’s, his mind lit up with fireworks and ideas of how far he wanted to let them go.

_He_ _**is** _ _cute. Personality crushes are a thing – people get cuter if you like how they are, right? The nerdy guy from Criminal Minds totally isn’t hot, but his personality is. Right? Oh, screw it! He’s cute!_

Ignoring Eddie’s thoughts – though he couldn’t resist chuckling into the kiss – Richie held him close, breaking away only to kiss down Eddie’s jaw. Awkwardly walking in tandem towards the stairs, Eddie led them through the living room, clumsily bumping into the wall behind him.

Tripping over the dusty rug in the center of the hallway, they fell against the railing, empty picture frames rattling beside them. Richie shrugged out of his coat, while Eddie helped pull the shirt over his head. His fingers tangled in Richie’s messy curls, and he giggled, though Richie knew he didn’t mean to.

_This is too fast isn’t it? Am I going to fast? I don’t care, but am I?_

Feeling up Eddie’s shirt, Richie paused. Staring at Eddie, he slowly pulled his hand back. He opened his mouth, prepared to ask if Eddie was _sure_ he wanted this, but Eddie spoke first.

“You know, I could probably help with the blood thing,” he said, only somewhat absentmindedly. There wasn’t a plethora of thoughts for Richie to sift through; the statement fell from Eddie’s lips haphazardly. “It’s like giving a hickey, right? I mean, it can’t be that painful.” Eyes widening, Richie leaned his head back.

Eddie was _beyond_ dazed, and Richie realized this was his first kiss. His head buzzed and swirled with _emotion_ , rather than thought.

Chuckling, Richie shook his head.

“I appreciate it, but I don’t think that’ll work. Your blood in particular tastes like battery acid,” he teased, forgetting the joke was only funny to himself. Eddie’s brow furrowed instantly, and he pushed his shirt down to cover himself. Offense clear in his face, he sucked in a breath, failing to conjure a comeback. Placing his hands on Eddie’s shoulders, Richie offered a smile. “I mean that in the nicest way. It’s a defense mechanism for my kind. On the off chance we meet our soulmate, their blood tastes terrible so we won’t lose control and kill them.” He suspected a heavy silence between them; he prepared for the quiet to settle between them for quiet some time.

And for the thousandth time, regardless of whether or not he could read Eddie’s thoughts, he simply couldn’t predict his next move.

To be entirely fair, though, Eddie’s thoughts changed rapidly, and Richie could only hope to keep up.

“We’re soulmates?” His head was empty, save for the question. He repeated it to himself, like an insurance policy to prevent Richie from hearing more than Eddie wanted him to.

“As weird as it sounds, yes,” Richie said. Informing Eddie they were soulmates was probably the _least_ weird thing he said all afternoon, but he supposed it was unfair to rank all the facts presented. The entire concept of supernatural creatures existing was weird, as a general rule.

Eddie snorted, his shoulders slumping forward as he held his stomach.

“You know what? You really had me going,” he said, cackling through his words.

_You’ve gotta be FUCKING kidding me,_ Richie thought, rubbing his temples.

“You don’t believe me,” he sighed, dragging his hand down his face. Eddie continued to wheeze, leaning against the wall to support himself. Clapping his hands together, Richie shouted, “You were thinking _all day_ about how to accuse me of being a vampire! You had all this evidence! I _confirmed_ all the evidence, and now that I tell you we’re soulmates, and you don’t have to worry about moving too fast, you think I’m bullshitting?”

The last part of his exasperated pleading caught Eddie’s attention. His giggles ceased at once, and his stare became alarmed.

Biting his lip, Eddie jabbed his finger against Richie’s chest and demanded, “Tell me what I’m thinking. Right now. If you’re really a vampire, and you can actually hear what I’m thinking, then tell me.” He squinted, the randomizer wheel in his head spinning to whatever “left field” made him imagine first. Grinning, Richie fought back his own laughter.

“The Scooby Doo theme song,” he answered smugly. Eddie’s eyes widened, the color leaving his cheeks. His lips parted, and again, his thoughts moved far too quickly for Richie to hang on. Gulping, Eddie’s hands fell to his sides.

“O-old Scooby Doo or What’s New?”

“Eddie.” Richie sighed his name, though he wore a chagrin smile. “I’d really like to go back to kissing you.” He left the option open for Eddie, because he was perfectly aware of how much time the poor Kaspbrak boy wasted _not_ doing the things he wanted to do.

_He’s my soulmate; that means it’s totally okay if we move fast. God, I really like him. He’s just so cute, and he always knows what to say – yeah sure, fine, he can hear what I’m thinking, but he still knows. He’s perfect, isn’t he? Oh God, I really do wanna keep kissing him._

Hands shaking, Eddie didn’t bother fighting his smile as he pulled Richie in for another kiss. He didn’t expect Stan home for awhile, and Richie had no plans to stop unless Eddie called him off.


	7. An Ice Cream Cone, But in the Dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The winter hiatus is over and I'm back! Enjoy the update!

Ultimately, dating a vampire wasn’t what Eddie imagined.

Surprised with his self-control, he opted _not_ to lose his virginity after only a week of dating. For about fifteen minutes, while Richie left kisses along his throat and just below his earlobe, Eddie heavily considered having sex. As a teen, he fantasized about a rugged boyfriend sneaking in – but they never made it particularly far. He couldn’t do anything knowing his mother was only a room away.

But Sonia was dead, rotting underground several _miles_ away.

Richie refused to go further because Eddie’s thoughts were so loud, which led them to their first argument.

Or second. Maybe third. Eddie already lost count at how much they got off track.

“ _I don’t think it’s fair you can hear every single passing thought.”_

“ _Eds, I dunno how to tell you this, but you_ _ **scream**_ _. It’s impossible not to listen.”_

“ _Can’t you just turn it off?” Eddie huffed, folding his arms over his chest. Richie pulled him close, his lips in Eddie’s hair._

“ _I’ll try. I’ve never had to put in this much effort though; you have a vibrant imagination,” he said. Eddie almost protested, but Richie added, “I like that about you.” Although Eddie wanted to say more on the subject, he kept to himself, knowing Richie most likely heard him anyway. His suspicions were confirmed when he argued with Richie’s expression via his mind._

_**Don’t make that face at me. You’re still doing it! You said you would stop!** _ _Eddie’s mouth twisted into a pout as Richie’s brow rose. He didn’t say any such thing, but Eddie wanted it implied, at the very least._

Lying on the grass in front of the art building, Eddie scribbled mindlessly. He purchased a handful of adult coloring books, wondering if they were as relaxing as advertised. Since his confession, Richie kept a bottle of aspirin on him at all times, which he hadn’t yet used today. Eddie supposed this meant the books were working.

Lately, he was all too aware of his method of thinking. Richie tried to insist he wasn’t bothered, and he frequently used medication to dull other people out, but Eddie wanted more control of his own thoughts. Daydreaming was easier for Richie to handle – as a matter of fact, the imagery put him in a mild state of nirvana – so Eddie’s goal was to spend more time musing than overthinking. There were benefits for both of them, and no cons as far as he could see.

His endless train of thought caused frequent anxiety; Eddie wanted to do away with it. He managed to stress himself out at every turn because he put too much energy into thinking of every possible outcome. When he left his mother, he swore to himself he would try to relax. Only now did he fully honor his promise.

Eddie wasn’t sure when, but he began reminiscing over fond memories.

Speaking became incredibly difficult for him after growing up with Sonia; she weaponized emotions and made him weary of showing any. Tears were a poison he couldn’t quite understand, but without having to vocalize anything, his throat couldn't close and strangle him.

_I want you to meet my dad,_ Eddie had thought one day, causing Richie to drop his pen. In the middle of their art class, Eddie recalled key points in his childhood with Frank. He taught Eddie how to ride a bike and change a tire, but he also taught him how to keep plants alive, and ensure their flowers would bloom the brightest. He encouraged everything Eddie said, and tried to match every ounce of excitement his tiny body could carry.

He saved every shitty Christmas decoration Eddie made in class, and every excellent grade he brought home.

Frank Kaspbrak loved his son more than anything in the world, and Eddie wanted Richie to know just how perfect of a father he was.

But Eddie supposed he knew that staying in love and being happy wasn’t going to be as easy as he wanted.

Thunder rumbled distantly, and they began packing their things to leave. Richie's aspirin rattled in the plastic bottle; Eddie grimaced at the unpleasantly familiar sound. Shoving the sickening feeling back, he hoisted his bag higher on his shoulder. On their way to the parking lot, Richie slipped his hand over Eddie’s, squeezing gently. As they climbed into the car, with Eddie securing his seatbelt first, he knew Richie wanted to say something. Mostly likely, something he didn’t want to hear.

“Can you tell me about your mother?” Richie asked, his voice as relaxing as he could muster. Eddie knew he should’ve expected as much; Richie didn't tease him with any sexual jokes, or playfully dupe him with misleading facts about vampires. He behaved perfectly all afternoon.

“Why do you wanna know?” Eddie sighed, slumping in his seat. A rash of images scattered through his mind – Sonia in her recliner, Sonia complaining about the parade outside, Sonia begging for Eddie to come back. Once again shoving the thoughts back into their corner – a spot he reserved for the worst moments of his life – he pretended as though the memories didn’t strangle him. If Richie was heeding their agreement, and tuning his brain out, he wouldn’t have seen anything.

Eddie trusted he wouldn’t, with no reason other than… Richie was Richie. He would never seriously deceive Eddie, nor would he break his trust.

Maybe he was naïve in believing so, but he wanted to do the opposite of what Sonia would’ve suggested. He believed in his choice.

“Before we got together, you thought about her constantly. You compared everything you said and did to what she would’ve done. I think you _want_ to talk about your mom, you just… are stubborn,” Richie reasoned, chuckling at the end. Eddie scoffed, crossing his arms. Sucking in a breath, he glanced at the side-view mirror. He failed to find anything to focus on, but he didn't want to make eye contact with Richie yet.

“I’m working on that. She was a terrible, toxic force in my life that I managed to get away from,” he said, almost robotically. Richie’s head tilted.

“Yet you still think of her,” he pointed out. Huffing, Eddie turned back to look at him. Already, he could feel heat creeping into his cheeks. Holding up his hands, quickly using one to place over his heart, he added, “I'm not cheating; I haven't listened to your thoughts. I'm going strictly off what I gathered from when we met. And I technically did warn you to keep it down yesterday.” He, in fact, had warned Eddie about his mind becoming too loud, but Eddie didn't have a way to control it.

“It’s hard not to. I don’t wanna be anything like her – she poisoned everything she touched,” Eddie scowled, his fists tightening. He hated his mother, from her hypocritical rants to her knowingly keeping him suffocated under her thumb. The most dangerous act he ever committed began when he stopped listening to her, because he realized then just how _not_ delicate he was. As much as she wanted him to believe so, he suspected it for a large portion of his life. Without Frank to back him up, however, he was too small to face the behemoth, Sonia Kaspbrak. “She hated my dad because I loved him more. She knew one day we might just leave her behind, and she wouldn’t have anyone left to control.” The bitterness in his voice, while foreign, felt perfectly in place – Eddie hated talking about Sonia because he didn’t feel like himself.

Reaching across the seat to rub his arm, Richie nodded.

“You know you’re nothing like her, right? You think twice about all your actions, and you try to consider what you say. That’s a hell of a lot more than I think she would’ve done,” Richie offered, attempting to keep Eddie calm. He appreciated it; as much as he knew this to be true, he still couldn’t stop himself from wondering what he inherited from his mother.

“She made me so scared to just _exist_. I could’ve made so many friends, or done so much with my time – I was in the best city in the world for gay culture, but she made me turn my back on anything that would’ve made me an individual with interests and a personality,” he said, resentment bubbling up inside him. It rose through his chest, coming out in a plume of words against his mother. “I hated her! I hated her so much that I would’ve rather slept in a dumpster than shared that apartment for another day. But I felt terrible leaving her all alone, because who was gonna be there when her heart finally gave out?” Eddie bit his lip.

His eyes were burning and his vision began to blur. His nose would start running soon, but he couldn’t stop talking. Richie nodded again, his hand holding Eddie’s. Maybe he would see what Eddie now saw - the image of Sonia lovingly wiping his nose and soothingly rubbing his back when he was upset.

“Eds-“

Maybe he was going to give him an out, but he started this. He wanted to know.

Eddie looked straight at Richie; the agony in his eyes was enough to tell him, _listen to everything in my head_.

Richie closed his eyes, and Eddie remembered each painful detail. Maybe not all of them mattered, but they created the blueprint for who Eddie became.

During his first soccer game at school, Eddie prided himself on scoring the winning goal. Sonia, however, sullied the achievement by screeching at the top of her lungs. She had come to retrieve Eddie early, and caught him in the midst of what she deemed a “barbaric” game. She screamed at the coach, turning the poor man’s pink face to a ghostly white. The kids all laughed at Eddie as he was dragged away, and any thoughts he had of joining a sporty team were flushed.

One of the last times he gardened with Frank, he cut his hand on a wire. Sonia proceeded to ban both of them from tending to their flowers, citing health concerns as her main reason. Frank grew weaker by the day – an infection had potential to kill him. She didn’t want Eddie falling ill either, so gradually, their roses and orchids began to wither and die.

Eddie choked out a sob, recalling the worst memory of all – at least in his eyes.

He watched from the kitchen window, past the fire escape, as a Pride parade waltzed past their home. No matter how badly he wanted to join, or just ask questions, he was confined to the filthy space he shared with his mother. She caught site of what caused all the ruckus, and nearly fainted. Angrily, she ran outside and attempted to shriek over the music with threats of calling the police. People filmed as she ranted about God and their “ _disgusting_ ” choice, and how dare they do this in front of her son. She called them every name in the book, and became a viral idiot overnight.

Mortified, Eddie refused to leave the apartment for a week.

His astonishment and embarrassment mingled with outrage – he used to attend church with Frank every Sunday, all without Sonia, because she couldn’t bring herself to wake up. Frank told him that the God they prayed too loved everyone, regardless of the choices they made in life. He made religion beautiful, and something Eddie thought he could trust.

But it was just one more thing Sonia killed along with Frank.

The first few tears trickled down Eddie’s face, and once they dripped off his chin, the floodgates opened. He sobbed, covering his face with his hands. His entire body shook with spasms as he cried, remembering all the hatred and anger, and loneliness and fear.

“I miss my dad,” he whimpered, hit with the truth underneath all of his harbored feelings toward Sonia. Eddie didn’t think of himself as an open book. He never considered that all it would take for him to burst at the seams were a few seconds of prodding.

Perhaps it was because Richie was the one doing the questioning, and they were speed-running a relationship, but Eddie acted significantly more reckless with himself. He didn’t second guess or hesitate, and Richie seemed to understand exactly what he was talking about. He _did_ want to get all the feelings off his chest, so he could finally put his mother to rest and throw her out of his mind for good.

But he couldn’t trust anyone enough to carry the weight of his baggage. At least not before Richie came along.

Richie’s lips were in his hair as he whispered, “You’re okay, Eddie. It’s okay.” He rubbed Eddie’s back soothingly, holding him close. Protectively. Eddie continued to weep until he felt virtually weightless. Though his breathing hitched, it came easier than he ever recalled.

* * *

As Richie’s cold knuckles brushed up Eddie’s spine, zipping his dress shut, he stole a peek in the mirror. Eddie admired him with a smile; Richie bit his lip as he focused, careful not to tear Eddie’s costume. A white pipe cleaner supported the golden, paper halo six inches over his head. His off-shoulder dress (painstakingly bleached perfectly white) matched his socks and sneakers. The wide set of wings he strapped over his shoulders didn’t extend as far as he thought, much to his relief. He had a moment of horror as he put them on, thinking he would have to crab-walk through entryways all night.

“I’m trying really hard to think of a sex joke,” Richie murmured against Eddie’s ear, his warm breath tickling the skin. Snorting, Eddie rolled his eyes and pushed him back playfully. “You look hot, for the record.” Reaching around, running his fingers through the thick curls, Eddie beamed.

“So do you… as obvious as your costume is,” he said, chuckling as he eyed the black and green cape. Twirling, lifting the cloak to shield his face, Richie elicited another laugh.

“Hide in plain sight; it’s worked for the last twenty-two years,” he joked, shrugging. Technically, it only worked for the last ten - since Twilight blew up and unwittingly cast a protective bubble around his kind. But Eddie didn't need to think about that for Richie to know.

Wrapping an arm around Eddie’s shoulders, Richie led them downstairs where Stan and Patty were waiting. They passed newly hung pictures of significantly older memories – one of Eddie, Bill, and Stan on their first day of summer camp, another featuring Frank and Eddie when he finished his go-kart (a labor of love he poured countless hours into), and the last being him holding up his GED certificate and college acceptance letter.

Fixing her top as the pair approached, Patty smoothed any wrinkles she could find. At first glance, Eddie immediately knew who she was. Poison Ivy, from the Batman series. She painted vines and green veins along the side of her face and along her arms and hands; he admired her attention to detail, and was once again thrust with understanding of why Stan chose her.

“Who are you supposed to be?” Eddie asked, his head tilted as he looked over Stan’s costume. He wore black khakis and a white, button down top which he failed to tuck in. This confused Eddie more than anything, as he’d never seen Stan with an untucked shirt.

“That’s a chef’s jacket, babe,” Richie mumbled. Eddie’s mouth twisted and he shot a warning glance at his boyfriend. “ _Screaming_ ,” Richie had to remind him, his voice low enough for only Eddie to hear. While he truthfully didn’t mind that Richie could hear most of his thoughts, he still considered it a little bit unfair. At least he was more helpful than anything else. “Sorry.” The apology was brief, and equally as quiet, but sincere nonetheless.

Clearing his throat, Stan pretended to shout, “That squid is so raw, I can still hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off!” He did a poor imitation of a British accent, and Eddie scratched the back of his head. In all fairness, the media he consumed was vastly different from what Stan would keep on as background noise. While Eddie enjoyed stories, Stan was a complete sucker for reality competitions.

“I’m… still lost,” he said, laughing uncertainly. He knew this had to be an actor from one of those programs, but he couldn't put a finger on who.

“Gordon Ramsey!” Stan huffed, his mouth twisting into a disappointed pout. “He’s the guy who shuts down the gross restaurants and shouts _I’ve eaten here_!” At this, the switch flipped in Eddie’s mind, and he recalled seeing Stan watching his show.

“Oh!” Looking his friend over again, Eddie nodded, impressed. “You did a great job on the costume.” Waving him off, already heading outside, Stan left with Patty.

“Sure, sure,” he muttered.

Exchanging a glance with Richie, Eddie stifled a giggle, seeing that his boyfriend wanted to snicker as well. They followed Stan and Patty to his car; with his bulky wings, Eddie didn’t believe driving his own vehicle would be comfortable.

The decision was difficult, considering he was an awful backseat driver. However, he provided detailed directions to Mike’s farm, so he expected a simple drive.

In the past couple weeks, Mike and Bill easily integrated with Eddie, Stan, and Patty.

Provided Richie wasn’t around. Or mentioned.

The five of them were natural friends, laughing and joking with ease. When Mike brought up his idea for a Halloween party, and promptly called dibs on Freddy Krueger, they all agreed the plan sounded fun. Eddie didn’t want to ask if he could bring Richie, but he hadn’t needed to. Mike insisted Richie join; they were dating, and Bill promised he would behave. Although, from the way he described their conversation, Eddie wasn’t entirely sure the vow was verbatim. He could imagine Bill stating he would try, with a crystal clear “no promises” attached to the end.

But ultimately, Mike’s insistence won out.

As they rolled up on the driveway, Eddie leaned his head out of the window. His hands gripped the door, a wide smile stretching from ear to ear. There were dozens of people swarming the wraparound porch – and even more guests inside; Eddie watched two silhouettes dancing to a familiar beat, which he could hear from where he sat. Tearing his gaze off of the crowd, he admired the farmhouse. The gabled roof, fire pit, and detached barn looked straight out of a storybook.

Following his friends – his arm around Richie’s waist, and Richie’s arm around his shoulders – Eddie basked in the warmth shared by the partygoers. Not once in his life had he been invited to something like this; he wasn’t a teenager anymore, and alcohol wasn’t quite the taboo as it had been then, but he still found social drinking enjoyable. If he were under Sonia’s rule, he would’ve spent most of the night looking over his shoulder, frightened of the idea that she might remove a mask and reveal herself as one of the dancers.

Shaking his head, Eddie beamed up at Richie, who returned the smile with a quick kiss.

“I wonder if Mike made anything to eat,” he said, craning his neck to get a better view of the kitchen. Richie rolled his eyes, ruffling Eddie’s hair.

“I told you to eat before we left,” Richie reminded him, though his comment went mostly ignored – much like the suggestion.

Picking up a scent of pizza, Eddie headed around the foyer. The living room (or perhaps a living room and dining room) were split by the entrance, which was wide enough to fit a mail table and two benches for shoes and jackets. A portrait of Mike’s family hung in the center of the wall on Eddie’s left, depicting him with both parents in their best dress.

“I always wanted a house like this,” Eddie blurted, not fully thinking about the words which left his lips. Richie’s brow cocked; he glanced around to take in the surroundings, if only superficially. Since he avoided listening in on any of Eddie’s thoughts, he wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. While Eddie picked a slice of pizza, pouring himself a glass of the undoubtedly spiked punch, he observed all the little details. He noticed straight away how Mike’s height had been measured on the archway entrance of the kitchen. He didn’t fail to spot where photographs hung over aged cracks in the paint, or how the furniture looked about as old as himself.

Mike’s house was a home, and Eddie had always fantasized about the comfort.

Before he lost himself too deep in thought, Richie – who informed him of the distant and distracted expression which overtook his features whenever that happened – placed a hand on Eddie’s shoulder and squeezed, offering his other hand.

“You wanna dance?” he asked, nodding his head back towards the living room. Knowing he wanted to since Mike suggested they come, Eddie eagerly abandoned his half-eaten slice. Taking one more sip of his punch (which tasted shockingly sweet for what he suspected was mixed with liquor), he let Richie lead.

Laughing as Richie twirled him, Eddie quickly lost himself to the music rather than his thoughts. His head managed to clear itself completely as he moved to the beat, his hands tightly clasping his boyfriend. He couldn’t resist calling Richie “boyfriend” every chance he got – this was his first, and potentially his last, if the soulmate stuff was true. Every part of him nearly burst with excitement; his fantasies were only ever supposed to be that. _Fantasy_.

But now he faced a reality with everything he ever wanted.

All he needed to make his life perfect was more time with Frank.

Dancing mattered more than those lingering ideas, however, and Eddie continued to twirl. Occasionally he stumbled, but Richie caught him each time without fail.

Eddie felt like a queen – free and on top of the world. He didn’t believe anything could ruin his night.

Except, perhaps, Bill.

And Bill’s fists.

And Bill’s fists coming at Richie.

It happened so fast, that for a moment, Eddie kept dancing. He spun around and stopped, expecting to see his boyfriend smiling and moving with him.

Instead, he saw people crowded around, watching as Bill gripped Richie’s collar forcefully. Richie flashed a taunting smile at him, revealing the plastic vampire teeth. This clearly enraged Bill – Eddie was aware he screamed, but the sounds were all dulled underneath the booming bass.

Once he saw Mike, he easily sprung into action. He copied the act of a concerned boyfriend, pulling Richie back the same way Mike dragged Bill away. Although, while Bill struggled, Richie did nothing. Eddie’s arms were around his shoulders, his hands on Richie’s chest. He wasn’t aware he was frightened until all the sound popped back. His eardrum stung at the sudden pang of vibrations, but he mostly ignored the pain.

“Bill! Bill!” Mike shouted, attempting (almost in vain) to calm him down. Grabbing Eddie’s hand, Richie led him through the crowd, hurriedly escaping down the dirt pathway to Stan's car.

“I’m sorry,” was all Eddie heard Richie say. He paused, digging his heels in the dirt. “I knew better – I knew Bill was gonna be here, and I know his problems with me-”

“And so did I,” Eddie huffed, his mouth twisting and his brow furrowing. Pulling his hand out of Richie’s, he crossed his arms and stared at the ground. Crickets chirped in obnoxious harmony, louder than the music from where they stood. “We were best friends before I left town; I didn’t realize he changed _so much_. Maybe I just didn’t wanna believe it.” Of course he knew as much. He _didn’t_ want to believe it – so instead he chose the path of a bad friend, ignoring Bill’s problem to pursue his own happiness.

The question nagged at the back of his mind, but he never found reason to ask. Until now.

“Eddie?”

“Have you ever killed anyone?” There couldn’t be room for loopholes. None of the “have you ever drank human blood,” where Richie could get by on a technicality of blood from donations, sealed up in packs like a carton of fresh milk. Eddie kept his eye contact with Richie, regardless of how much it made him want to squirm. He didn’t want to accuse his boyfriend of anything, but he needed to know any details Richie might’ve thought to leave out.

“The truth?” Richie asked for clarification, setting off alarms in Eddie’s mind. He worried he wouldn’t like the answer, and instantly regret his question. Nodding, unable to stop himself, Eddie stood straighter – as if preparing to defend himself from the bombs of truth Richie might set off. “When I was a kid, treaties were made - long before Bill’s brother disappeared. These agreements made sure that I, nor my family, would ever feed on the residents of town. I never knew what happened to cause the agreement between my coven, and the hunters who keep peace in Derry. Since we’re not completely extinct, you can rest assured that the treaty remains unbroken. At the time though, I didn’t care. I was a moody kid – which, mind you, I grew out of that phase. Unlike your Edward Cullen.” The editorial at the end of his brief explanation was meant to make Eddie laugh.

And Richie succeeded.

Cracking a smile, Eddie rolled his eyes before giggling. However, his curiosity was far from placated.

“You said, ‘when I was a kid.’ When...?” Eddie didn’t know how to finish his question. Nor did he truly know how to _begin_. Richie snickered, shaking his head.

“That’s not important-”

“It’s _extremely_ important! I might be twenty-one, but I don’t know how comfortable I would be dating a DILF,” he snapped, though his smile gave him away. Leaning against the car, with Richie hovering just an inch above him, Eddie bit his lip. He didn’t want Richie to get away with not explaining by distracting him with kisses – which, he was great at doing.

Or Eddie was just easily distracted.

But most likely, it was both.

“I was born a vampire,” Richie began, his breath hot on Eddie’s face. He leaned in, though narrowly dodged Eddie’s lips, kissing his jaw instead. “I age normally, like everyone else. I can choose to stop, if I wanna be thirty for a hundred years. Eventually, I’d stop aging altogether – I’d just never die afterward. That’s why you see decrepit vampires in horror movies. They actually _are_ that old.” He chuckled, which made it hard for Eddie to tell if he was fibbing – but ultimately, he believed Richie. There was never a reason for him to lie about his knowledge of vampirism.

Hopping onto the hood of the car, Eddie slid further to one side, leaving space for Richie. He joined without protest, and together they stared at the clear sky. With the city lights polluting his view, Eddie never saw as many stars as he could now. The moon hung low – close enough for him to reach out and pretend to grab.

“Tell me about your family. You’ve _mentioned_ your sister, and your mom, but you don’t really talk much about either,” Eddie said, grabbing Richie’s arm and pulling it over his shoulders. His faint woodsy scent comforted Eddie as he snuggled closer, his head resting on Richie’s chest. Although he couldn’t say for certain, Eddie suspected the fragrance didn’t belong to Richie at all. He matched their surroundings – if they were in the fields outside town, Eddie breathed in lilac and lavenders, or whatever his mind conjured up as floral. Now, curled up against him, Eddie swore he detected a hint of sweet hay.

His curiosity felt justified (and perhaps even confirmed) by the lack of sound. As his ear pressed to Richie’s chest, he listened for any sort of pulse.

Any beat to confirm a living being lied beside him.

Eddie didn’t necessarily care – he understood Richie Tozier was a vampire. His mind lingered more on the technicalities.

“I promise, it’s not interesting,” Richie sighed, glancing down to make sure Eddie wanted to hear. Of course, he did. “Our coven used to be a lot bigger, but... time changes things. Bev wasn’t always my sister, you know. Her grandfather and my grandfather were turned by the same vampire. They found their wives, had their children, and those children found their soulmates and had us.” Whenever he used the word “soulmate,” Richie’s face scrunched in distaste.

“Do you not believe in soulmates anymore?” Eddie teased, though he didn’t intend for the statement to come out. Snickering, Richie shook his head.

“It’s just weird to say in casual conversation. I feel like a dork,” he admitted, shrugging sheepishly. At this, Eddie couldn’t help but laugh.

Here he lied, with his vampire boyfriend – a statement which should’ve been unbelievable on its’ own – and they struggled to say “soulmate” with a straight face. He understood perfectly; he couldn’t explain _why_ the word felt silly, but he supposed the reasons were similar to why “boyfriend” didn’t always feel correct. Richie was so much more than a boyfriend or soulmate. He transcended fiancé or partner. Eddie wished for a word to perfectly suit what Richie meant to him, but in the moment, it hardly mattered.

They were laughing.

“I guess it is pretty ridiculous to consider your mom, a seasoned vampire, my _mother-in-law_ ,” Eddie snorted, his face scrunching at the idea. Richie grinned, appearing to find a deeper amusement. “Who else am I gonna have? Brother-in-laws? More sisters? What about your dad?” He asked before fully considering the weight of his question.

Eddie knew Richie rarely spoke of his father, and he assumed Mr. Tozier wasn’t in the picture. Considering his own familial circumstances, he should’ve known better than to bring it up before Richie had a chance to on his own. His expression immediately became apologetic, but Richie shook his head dismissively.

“It’s just me, Bev, and Mom,” he said, his smile fading. Looking up at the sky, his lips parted, then quickly shut. He considered something for a moment – a thought which Eddie couldn’t begin to imagine – then opened his mouth again. “There’s a kid with us, but he doesn’t say or do anything except sit in the attic. Mom found him when a rogue came through town; he’d already been bitten by the time she got to them, and she didn’t have the heart to kill him.” Pausing, he glanced down at Eddie. Upon seeing his confusion, he chuckled and explained, “Rogue vampires are...”

His face lit up, and Eddie nearly perked into a sitting position. Richie knew what he wanted to say and made no effort to stop him. Technically, he was right.

“Like Victoria, and James and Laurent!” he blurted, once again referencing his beloved Twilight books.

“Yeah, yeah like them. The guy was also a pain in the ass; he killed a lot of people while he was here. The hunters we made that treaty with? They thought we were breaking it. We were basically in an all-out war until we could find the culprit,” he recounted, one eye squinting as he struggled to remember the details. Eddie hung on to his every word, fascinated and horrified at the same time. “A couple hunters were killed, but so were most of the coven. I technically said we weren't _completely_ wiped out, but our numbers were destroyed. Bev’s parents, my dad – two others decided to jump ship during the whole fiasco.” Squeezing Richie’s arm, Eddie craned his neck to reach him, delicately kissing his jaw.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Rich. You don’t have to tell me anymore-”

Shaking his head, Richie quickly said, “No. I want to. I haven’t told this to anyone.” Biting his lip, he sat up, and Eddie copied without a second thought. “I was just a kid back then. I didn’t understand what was happening, and for a long time, I didn’t get why my mom was so... insane. That’s a weak word for it, but I thought she was keeping me on a tight leash just for fun. I didn’t realize until recently that she only wanted me to stay safe. She lost everyone she cared about; Bev and I are the only ones left.” Guilt nagged at him, but Richie pushed it back.

There were too many little details he left out, which made a significant difference in the overall meaning to his story. He knew how terrified his mother was of losing him, yet he didn’t change his mind about wanting to leave. He didn’t have to go far, if Eddie didn’t want to, but eventually...

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Richie forced a smile.

He dodged a lot of truth for Eddie's questions, and in hindsight, he couldn't conjure a good enough reason as to why.

“Are you okay?” Eddie’s hands were warm on his chest, heating through the fabric of his shirt. Richie nodded, caressing Eddie’s back. Of course he was okay – with Eddie around, how could he not be? Swallowing thickly, Eddie looked around to make sure they were alone. “I’m gonna get an Uber, okay? Let’s go home.” Though he was tempted to listen in on what Eddie plotted (his face consistently gave him away; Richie could tell a plan formulated with each passing second), he kept himself out of Eddie’s mind.

A realization occurred to him halfway through the ride home, however.

With each passing day, Eddie’s ability to shield his thoughts grew stronger. Richie already found him endlessly fascinating, but this added a hefty cherry on top of the cake.

Thankfully, their driver didn’t force conversation. The ride remained silent, with Eddie’s hand held tightly in Richie’s. As they passed the Main Street bridge, Richie watched Eddie’s face come and go under each of the streetlights. His hair matted around his ears with sweat. At first, Richie thought he heated up in the mass of bodies at Mike’s house. Then he realized, much to his surprise, Eddie was nervous. He couldn’t ask about what – and he continued to struggle as they exited the car and made their way inside.

“Eds-”

“I want tonight to be the night,” Eddie blurted as he leaned against the door, shutting it with his weight. Richie’s eyes widened, and he blinked several times.

“You’re a virgin,” was all he could think to say, referring to a previous thought Eddie had practically shrieked at him. Eddie’s cheeks flushed, suddenly full of a rosy pink, but he smiled despite the embarrassment.

“And I sound like one, but I mean it. I’m ready,” he said. His face only darkened as the blood and heat rushed under his skin. “That sounds as lame as 'soulmate,' but if I gave you a pass, you’ll have to give me one.” Eddie held Richie’s hands and led him upstairs, careful of each step he took as not to stumble. His stomach bubbled with excitement; he nearly lost his breath as they entered his bedroom. Swallowing thickly, he reached out to cup Richie’s face. “I’m falling in love with you.”

The words didn’t feel like his own, regardless of how much he knew they were.

He never expected this from himself. When he received the call informing him that Sonia passed, and everything she and Frank owned belonged to him, he remembered a new life flashing before his eyes. Eddie considered trying his hand at multiple passions he once held, but quickly dropped due to pressure from Sonia. He thought about changing up his wardrobe and indulging his wildest fantasies – which turned out to only be his car.

Not once did he envision himself meeting anyone.

Love always felt obscure and wrong, though not solely because of Sonia’s warped attempts at brainwashing. Without Frank, he gradually forgot what love meant. There was no point of reference, considering Frank and Sonia weren’t in love long before the cancer claimed him. Eddie approached love the same way he would an alien or mysterious asteroid. He simply didn’t.

All his fantasies were the safest; he didn’t have to ask his mother for permission or struggle with his own self-doubt. He controlled the direction. He decided who, what, when, where, and why. He didn't have to explain himself unless it was on his own terms. His fantasies were all within his control, and giving that up to someone real was simply too terrifying.

So now, he told Richie the truth. Yes, he loved him, but saying he was actively falling in love felt more accurate. He fell in love a little more every day, and he suspected the trend would continue. He chose to say it because he knew the vulnerability his admission required. Eddie hated relying on people, almost as much as he hated feeling exposed.

But with Richie, he didn’t mind.

For once, he wanted to express every single feeling, no matter how silly. He trusted Richie would take this confession and hold it safely in his rough palms. There was no reason for Eddie to be scared.

So he wasn’t.

* * *

“Remember when you asked if it was possible for me to sleep?” Richie asked, lifting the duvet for Eddie to rejoin him. Sinking into his bed, pleasantly surprised by Richie’s warmth, Eddie snickered and nodded. How could he forget, when his entire perception of real versus supernatural cracked that day? “Well, I can. And I’d be happy if you were the little spoon.” Eddie tried to hide his smile by twisting his mouth into a pout, but he knew he couldn’t be more obvious.

“I’d like that,” he said, snuggling closer to Richie. Sighing contently, he closed his eyes and replayed the loss of his virginity in his mind. While there were no fireworks or profound fanfare, Eddie _did_ understand exactly how in love with Richie he fell.

If he used too much lubricant, he hardly cared – better too much than too little. They opted to not use a condom; much to Eddie’s surprise (and slight relief), Richie was also a virgin. Plus, he didn’t catch or spread viruses the way humans could. Eddie never considered the benefit when he imagined a vampire boyfriend.

“Are you feeling okay?” Richie asked, stroking Eddie’s hair back. Staring up at him, Eddie nodded again. He showered alone, while Richie used the sink to clean himself off. Honestly, he enjoyed the time to himself, reflecting on how perfect his night went. Maybe Richie heard him, but he didn’t care about that either. He cared for nothing except returning to bed and sleeping in the arms of his soulmate.

“I’m feeling perfect, Rich,” he sighed peacefully, nuzzling his face in Richie’s chest. “You know, you can listen to what I’m thinking about tonight. If you want. Mostly it’s gonna be about the sex we just had.” Richie’s laugh closely followed his own.

_I can’t wait to be a vampire. Knowing that we could have forever… I just want it to begin already._

The thought, while innocent and earnest, left Richie hesitant.

“I’ve seen you react to blood; vampirism might not work out for you,” he teased, hoping to throw Eddie off his course. Wrapping his arms around Richie’s waist, he shook his head indignantly.

“I can manage,” he mumbled sleepily.

Biting his lip, Richie half reminded, half warned, “We have to be diligent. There’s consequences to not feeding on human blood. I’ve told you this – you don’t want that risk looming over you month after month. You’d never forgive yourself if you killed an innocent person.” Deep down, he spoke from experience. He feared Eddie knowing the truth, and changing his mind about their relationship – but lying wouldn’t last.

Eddie deserved to know.

“I think I’ve dreamed of you before,” he said, his mouth running without filter. “Is it possible for me to have known about my soulmate before meeting him?” Though he began falling asleep, Eddie’s smile lingered. Richie bit his lip – he knew the reasons Eddie saw him prior to their “first” meeting.

They had locked eyes years ago, and for Eddie, he had merely been a nightmare.

Desperate to confess, Richie opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Instead, he listened to Eddie’s rhythmic breathing, his soft heartbeat, and the cascade of thoughts bubbling over in his brain.

Eddie’s mind performed all the mental gymnastics it could to reach the conclusion of being okay with turning into a vampire. He invited Richie to listen in on his racing thoughts about religion, afterlife, and his parents, but also about how he cared for none of it. Eternity sat just fine with him so long as he spent it with Richie.

And although Richie _did_ hear every last word, those thoughts did nothing to comfort him.

If Eddie knew how angry Richie had been discovering that his life meant nothing, nor would he serve any purpose for all eternity, maybe he wouldn’t desire the same fate. Maybe he would see Richie for exactly what he was. He hated to admit it, but Edward Cullen had a point. An eternity meant jack and shit.

All Richie wanted for his entire life, was a chance to be human. Regardless of whether he could or couldn’t become one, the choice lied with his mother. He couldn’t abandon her in good conscience. She fought too hard for all of them to have a safe and peaceful life, anonymously enjoying the mundane and the simplicity of a small town. In her days, vampires were hunted for sport and viciously murdered.

She earned her family.

Richie didn’t have the heart to rip himself away.

But he wanted more, and Eddie didn't sign up for his baggage.

As humans, they could adopt children and live freely wherever they wanted. They could travel and experience life as normal people.

Sighing, Richie closed his eyes, knowing perfectly well that sleep wouldn’t come easy.

* * *

Upon waking up, a scent of eggs and bacon greeted Eddie. Smiling, he reached out for Richie, only to find his side of the bed empty. Frowning, he sat up and looked around his room. Everything remained undisturbed, as it had been last night. Glancing out of his window, he saw Stan and Patty weren’t home. This brought his smile back – Richie made breakfast.

Eagerly prancing downstairs to meet him, Eddie nearly stumbled off the last few steps, carefully steadying himself once he reached the ground. Any other time, he would’ve recalled how Sonia warned him to be careful. Now, however, all he could focus on was seeing Richie again. Entering the kitchen, he perched on one of the stools, his arms folding on the island counter.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Richie said, sliding the food onto a plate. He pushed it towards Eddie, nodding for him to eat. As he took each slow bite, he noticed Richie watching him. Raising a brow, he looked around, as if Richie had someone else to stare at. “You’re cute.” Instantly, a blush burned across Eddie’s cheeks. Leaning over the counter, Richie kissed each one, increasing the heat in his face. “I love you, Eddie. You know that, right?”

Their eyes met, and at once, Eddie’s stomach sank. Semi-chewed egg rested in the pocket of his left cheek, his smile fading fast. He remembered this feeling, though it came to him quite rarely. As far as he could recall, he only ever possessed it twice. The first time was the evening before Frank’s death. He said goodnight to Eddie, received the usual kiss from his son, and went to bed.

Somehow, despite being a silly, unassuming child, Eddie lied awake suspecting he would never see his father again.

The second time came a day before he received the call about Sonia’s death. He worked part-time at a local theater, helping to design and fix costumes for stage plays. While he stitched a few repairs, a violent rush of panic hit him. Nothing caused it, as far as he could tell, but all he could think of was his mother. He figured it had to do with the fact that she taught him how to sew; leaving her behind seemed pointless when he related everything he did to her. At the time, all he could do was nervously laugh and shake the unsteadiness off.

When the call came, he felt relief. Not because she was dead, but because he could explain the abrupt sense that something had gone terribly wrong. He didn’t have to think about how stuck he had remained since escaping Sonia’s clutches.

Now, the feeling sank – a concrete block in his belly.

Behind him, he heard the front door open as a gust of wind pushed through. He expected to hear Stan greeting them.

Instead, he heard an unfamiliar woman.

“Rich?”

Reaching out to soothingly rub Eddie’s arm, Richie explained, “It’s my sister. In here, Bev!” He walked around to greet her, and Eddie’s eyes widened. He knew this person. Her flaming red hair and icy blue eyes were unmistakable. Unfortunately, he didn’t know _how_ he knew her. Eddie’s dread didn’t rescind. As a matter of fact, his anxieties grew worse.

“Are you sure you want this?” she asked, sadly staring up at her brother. Eddie’s head tilted in confusion. However, instead of conveying this, his brain finally allowed him to match her face to what Richie told him. This girl was more like a cousin to him, though he lovingly referred to her as a sister. Another vampire stood in his kitchen, presumably called by Richie to carry out a task.

Whatever it was, Eddie didn’t have the faintest clue.

Richie shut his eyes and nodded.

“Yes. I can’t keep manipulating him as if it didn’t happen.” Swallowing thickly, Richie turned away, refusing to meet Eddie’s stare again. Bev approached Eddie, her expression soft and comforting. Her eyes were apologetic, telling him: _I have no choice, and I wish I did. You poor soul._

Eddie wanted to scream that she _did_ in fact have a choice, but his lips were glued shut and his body froze. Her fingertips touched his forehead; she didn’t feel half as warm as Richie.

“Rich-”

“Let him remember that night. Let him remember everything about his time back in Derry, except for our relationship. All he knows is what we did; don’t let him think he’s crazy,” Richie instructed. Sighing, his shoulders slumping, he added, “We’ll take care of his friends next.” Alarmed, Eddie gaped, a protest rising in his throat.

But when he stared into the piercing blue eyes of Richie’s sister, his mind went blank.


	8. Local Gay Goes Bananas

“ _I can’t change the fact that we murdered his dad – the one person who made him feel safe.”_

_A tall, young man stomped from view as he brushed his dark hair away from his face. Behind him, a woman followed, her red hair bouncing off her shoulders. Her vibrant, blue eyes were troubled; she crossed her arms indignantly. The man returned, holding up a finger and jabbing it into her shoulder. She didn’t flinch, but from how boney his hands were, it should’ve hurt._

“ _You sound exactly like that lame Twilight vampire. He was just Holden Caulfield, but with glitter and a blood kink,” she sneered, eliciting another harsh poke. This time, she huffed and shoved his hand away._

“ _You’ve never actually read either of those books,” the boy pointed out. At once, his anger dissipated._

“ _No, but am I wrong?” she snickered. The two exchanged small grins, though neither were happy._

_Sighing, the man explained, “This is a little trickier than anything either of those douchebags went through. This is real. Would you forgive the hunters that killed your parents?” Once again running a hand through his hair, his eyes shut tight, he didn’t appear to breathe as he contemplated their next moves._

“ _Speaking of,” the woman said, blatantly avoiding his question, “How are we supposed to get his hunter friend without putting ourselves in danger?” Her mouth twisted into a pout. This made the man laugh, and he waved his hand dismissively._

“ _It’s Bill Denbrough. He’s the least competent hunter in the entire state, Bev,” he reminded her. Both of them were laughing now, and they stood, prepared to leave the house._

“ _Come on Richie,” Bev said, her hand on his shoulder. “We have time to think it all over. I doubt he’ll go see him immediately.” Standing in the doorway, she nodded to Richie before looking back at where they once stood. Richie disappeared – one blink and his figure vanished. A bat flew across the yard, but Beverly’s eyes were more captivating. The blue electrified everything in view; the eyes pierced straight through Eddie without mercy._

Gasping, Eddie bolted upright in his bed. His sheets flew off of him, landing on the hardwood floor. Breathing heavily, his eyes darted around his room, taking in all the details. This bedroom wasn’t the same one from Queens. This was his childhood room, and he woke up in Derry, Maine.

His hand flew to his head; he felt for excess warmth, wondering if perhaps he ran a fever. If he ever properly partied and drank too much, he’d know for sure if these were symptoms of a hangover. He couldn’t quite tell – there was always the chance his allergies were destroying him.

Yawning, trudging out of bed, he decided to forgo washing up and instead headed downstairs. After a few sniffs, Eddie realized he could smell.

 _So it wasn’t allergies,_ he thought, following the aroma of eggs and sausages. Pausing at the short landing before the kite winder stairs, he leaned over the railing to catch a glimpse of who cooked in his kitchen. Spotting Stan and Patty, he frowned. _Of course it’s them. Who else was I expecting?_

Racking his brains to remember what happened last night, he perched himself on the furthest bar stool. Stan gave him a once-over, exchanging a look with Patty.

“You okay, Eddie?” he asked, pouring a glass of juice for him. Rubbing sleep from his eye, Eddie shrugged. He couldn’t honestly answer the question, because he didn’t know himself. His entire world felt off kilter.

“Did we go for drinks or something last night?” Eddie hated when people answered questions with more questions, but he figured once wouldn’t hurt. He needed the answer before he could provide Stan with anything of his own. Brow cocked, Stan shook his head.

“We were at Mike’s. You were asleep by the time we got back,” he said, cautiously switching off the stove. Approaching Eddie, he sat close to him, concern in his eyes. Frowning, Eddie pulled his phone from his pocket. He didn’t recall leaving it there, but most of his memories were fuzzy anyways. However, the harder he thought about them, the more they cleared up.

“I just feel like I slept through this whole year- it’s already November?!” Eddie shouted, his eyes widening as he read the date on his phone. As he thought about the past holiday, he realized he _did_ move back to Derry. He made old friends and a couple new ones (sure it was only Mike Hanlon and Patty Blum, but they were two more friends than he had in New York), and they all went to a Halloween party. Eddie dressed up as one of the titular characters from Baz Lurhman’s Romeo and Juliet.

Before that, he attended Derry Community and finally indulged in art classes. He was in an accident – though thankfully his car survived – and walked away without a scratch. Bill acted crazy, but nobody could blame him with all the grief he suffered through alone.

Pausing, Eddie allowed himself a moment to reflect on his guilt. He should’ve made himself available to Bill, and why he didn’t, he couldn’t say.

“Yeah, this semester is passing in a blur,” Stan commented, pulling away to serve himself a plate. He kept an eye on Eddie, but seemed satisfied the more he came to himself. Nodding in agreement, Eddie froze and looked at his phone again.

“Damn it, I’m gonna be late!” he huffed, sprinting back upstairs to change his clothes. Instead of taking time to select an outfit, he rushed into the first ensemble he found, buttoning his overalls as he jogged downstairs. Grabbing his keys off the hook (then doubling back for his satchel), he hurried into his car and sped off. He half expected to see neighbors going about their business, before remembering his street had long been abandoned.

Although perturbed by the holes in his memory, Eddie focused on his class. He knew where to go and when to arrive, but what bothered him the most was his inability to recall if this was how his memory always worked. He assumed his knowledge of basic facts were constantly present, jumping to the forefront of his mind when needed. Instead, the gaps were filling in as he took each step, lacking stability he normally wanted.

He would’ve blamed jetlag, but he hadn’t been on a flight in months.

 _Probably the accident. I should check with the hospital after class; I bet it’s not uncommon,_ he thought, suddenly imagining the wreck. He only saw blurs of color, and heard sounds of tearing metal, but he understood the accident could’ve killed him.

Laughing off the unease, he found a parking spot close to his building and locked his car twice before leaving (again forgetting his satchel).

Eddie didn’t interact with any of his classmates; after weeks of sharing the room, he hadn’t warmed up to a single person. He didn’t find this strange – he opted for the class to have more practice drawing, not socializing. Judging from the sketches in his journal, he picked up more skills than he expected.

“Today, I want you to work from memory. Create a sketch of anything that you can visualize in no less than crystal clear detail. A person, a place, a thing – nouns. I wanna see what you all come up with,” the professor directed, perched in the center of her desk. She clicked a button on her stereo, filling the room with sounds of the ocean.

Smiling to himself, Eddie opened to a fresh page in his sketchbook. He didn’t have a plan for what he wanted to draw, opting instead to let his hands move freely. Starting with a simple circle, he began seeing a fuzzy image in his mind. Unsurprisingly, it turned out to be a boy. As he filled in the detail – a crooked nose, possibly having been broken at some point, wild hair, large eyes – he frowned. The subject reminded him of the discarded posters from his room.

Shrugging off the thought, he shaded his sketch carefully. When he finished and held up the drawing, Eddie’s eyes widened. Impressed, he wondered who the person could’ve been. He had never seen this boy before, and regardless of whether he drew inspiration from Twilight actors or not, Eddie didn’t create original people. Since he started drawing, he struggled each time he tried.

 _I guess I’ve seen him in passing,_ he thought, closing the sketchbook after his teacher came around to look. Stan once told him how strangers they passed on the street, and saw for a total of two seconds, could linger in the subconscious and become characters in dreams. Eddie didn’t have any other explanations, so he left it alone.

His class ended early, and yet again he found himself unsure what to do. There were no other classes he scheduled, nor did he have a job to scurry off to.

Biting his lip, he considered applying at the campus café. Working around the students opened the door to meet more people, and perhaps enlarge his circle of friends. Grimacing, he quickly shook his head and started for the parking lot. Upon seeing his car, beautifully painted and shining in the rare sunlight, he realized what he needed to clear the funk in his head.

A drive.

Eddie loved driving. As a child, he lived for the days he could help Frank fix their old Vista Cruiser. He dreamed of racing like the NASCAR drivers on tv, though he knew better than to vocalize the hopes in front of Sonia. She stripped him of his go-kart just days before the town’s kiddie race, breaking his heart and losing a significant chunk of his trust.

Gripping the steering wheel, he pressed his foot down a little bit harder on the gas. He checked his mirrors, cutting into the next lane and then back, passing slower cars as he did so. His previous accident happened because of the rain and another bad driver. Eddie couldn’t possibly have been the cause – driving was the one thing he _knew_ he could never screw up, almost as if he was born for it.

_(I’m on the right track)_

“-baby, I was born this way,” Eddie sang at the top of his lungs, the wind whipping his hair back as he sped along the highway. He didn’t bat an eye as he passed the damaged area where his car nearly flew over. The city paid to repair it rapidly, though the obvious change of old and aged metal, to new and clean was painfully obvious.

Much like with his sketch, he didn’t have a plan when he drove. Eddie kept going until he felt compelled to stop.

Which happened to be near the outskirts of town, where a (mostly) hidden sign read “rest stop ahead.”

A motorcycle had been parked near a dirt path, several feet out from the road. Tilting his head in confusion, Eddie squinted. He never noticed the dilapidated picnic table, overgrown with weeds and moss in the time it spent unused. Looking around, he called out, “Hello? Is anyone here?”

Nobody answered.

Biting the inside of his cheek, he rolled up the windows of his car – again, he locked it twice before stepping away. As he approached the bike, he reached out to feel for any heat. The engine was ice cold, telling him whoever owned it had been parked for a while. Pausing, a couple leaves crunching beneath his feet, Eddie considered turning back.

 _This is how people die in horror movies,_ he reminded himself, ignoring his better judgement and wandering further. There were footsteps lodged in the drying mud, though Eddie couldn’t say if they were fresh.

Cautiously, he followed them, keeping his hands out as if bracing for a fall or attack. Realistically, he didn’t know what he would do if someone tried to come after him. He ran faster than anyone in his school, and he tried to jog nightly, but he couldn’t guarantee his ability to outrun a crazed killer. As he chewed the skin off his bottom lip, he reached the end of the trail.

The footsteps ended, vanishing without a trace.

Frowning, Eddie looked around. Before his mind could escape him, with ideas of alien abductions or bear attacks, he noticed the plants to his left were crushed and awkwardly moved. The footsteps reappeared, although more faintly due to the grass and leaves. Holding his breath, he glanced at the dirt path made from years of hiking. If he went off course, there was a solid chance of him getting lost.

“Phone, phone... phone...” he mumbled, feeling his pockets. Finding the device, he checked his service.

Perfectly fine.

No interruptions.

He couldn’t explain the uncharacteristic adventurism, but he was being drawn towards something. His curiosity wasn’t easily abated, so he pressed forward. The underbrush barely came up to his ankles, though further out, he saw the plant life rising. Careful to avoid poison oak (though he couldn’t successfully identify it to save his life), he wandered until he found a creek.

An aged, wooden bridge lied in front of him, and Eddie didn’t consciously choose to cross it.

His feet simply carried him, as if he’d done this hundreds of times before. Walking across the field, up a small hill, Eddie froze when he saw the meadow below. Hundreds of flowers bloomed, filling the air with a crisp, sweet scent. His mouth opened in a small ‘o’ shape, and he took each step slower than the last, studying every nook and cranny of the sight before him.

“Wow,” he breathed, stopping in the center of the valley. Amazed, he breathed in deeply through his nose, completely forgetting his allergies.

Though, they were easy to forget when they didn’t act up.

Eddie paused, realizing he wasn’t suffering in the slightest. He felt perfectly fine.

He almost reached for his phone again, aiming to search if symptoms could fade with age. However, a snapping branch startled him, forcing him to whirl around. The scream died in his throat, coming out as a weak breath.

At first, he didn’t know what he saw. His worst fear was a monster, like the Slenderman or Sirenhead.

Then he realized it was only another man.

“Hey! Hey, wait!” Eddie couldn’t say why he called after the man, instead of minding his business, but he didn’t stop. Stumbling over his own feet, he ran after the mysterious figure. As he grew closer, the man started running himself. They were a couple yards apart, with the distance closing as they reached the bridge. “Excuse me! I’m sorry if I scared you – wait!” The man glanced over his shoulder once, but it was enough to make Eddie freeze.

Taking advantage of his stupor, the man kept running, increasing the distance between them. He disappeared in the trees, though Eddie knew where he had to go. Sure enough, as he reached the trail, he heard the motorcycle revving. Sprinting, though doubtful he would catch up, Eddie desperately tried to see the man’s face again.

He looked exactly like his sketch.

The motorcycle was gone by the time Eddie reached his car. He couldn’t even see the bike in the distance, nor could he determine which way it went. Huffing, he climbed back into his car, pausing as he reached for the seatbelt. He tried to figure out where he had seen this person before, and all at once, a violent barrage of memories hit him.

He was walking.

_Down the hall, to the last door._

Eddie remembered this night clearly, though never willfully.

_Lightning flashed outside; he held his nightlight tighter in his small hands. He was merely a tiny child, tasked with something bigger than himself. His job was to go into his father’s room and say goodbye. Frank warned him it would be difficult, but necessary._

_Thunder rumbled loud enough to shake the floors, and Eddie almost wet his Cookie Monster pajamas. Fumbling with the light, he dropped it. Freezing, he frantically looked around, expecting to hear his mothers’ heavy footsteps. Instead, he heard more rain. She snored in the room behind him, blissfully unaware as to what he was doing._

_Trembling, he reached for the doorknob._

_More than anything, he didn’t want to go in. The last time he set foot in his father’s room – previously an office, though Frank’s cancer saw his work desk and lamp replaced with a twin-sized bed and IV drips – Frank looked like a skeleton, his ghastly skin clinging onto his skull. His eyes were large and almost yellow, and his lips were the faintest shade of blue._

_Eddie’s eyes burned at the memory. He couldn’t stop staring at the three lifeless strands of hair on Frank’s head._

_His father was dying._

“ _Papa,” Eddie croaked pathetically, his hand limp on the door. His job was to unplug the machine, count to twenty, then plug it in again. Frank gave him clear instructions, and he sounded more like himself than he had in months._

_He pushed open the door, holding his breath as he braced for the horrific sight._

_Except Frank wasn’t alone._

_Two people stood over him. A pale, slender boy, and a taller girl, with fiery red hair. She bared her teeth, closing the distance between them before Eddie could think to scream._

Then he woke up, and Frank was dead.

Eddie’s mouth was agape.

He couldn’t remember if he did as he was told, killing Frank before the cancer could, but he knew those two children weren’t a dream. The boy had been his age, but now they were grown men, and Eddie knew without a shadow of a doubt: _that_ was the man he saw today.

* * *

Sprinting up the stairs two at a time, Eddie nearly fell on his face at the top. Not letting his two left feet deter him, he rushed into his room, searching for the nearest notebook. Yanking the one off his desk, he flipped open to the first empty page. He began writing down his thoughts, not wanting a single one to escape him. His frenzied writing gradually relaxed, as his initial words were ineligible.

As his writing slowed, however, he noticed a lingering piece of paper in the middle of the spiral. Brow furrowing, he picked the stray piece out. He didn’t like tearing the whole page for this exact reason – he hated the stray pieces. As ridiculous of a pet peeve as it was, he bought notebooks with perforated pages for this exact reason.

Maybe it was the strange memories hitting him, and the bizarre coincidence of running into a person he saw over ten years ago in unbelievable, inexplicable circumstances, but Eddie considered the possibility he was losing his mind.

Feeling over the page, he noticed indents, though he couldn’t make out what they were.

Gulping, he looked from the page to the pencil in his hand. Slowly, he brought the lead down, shading the entire piece of paper. His chicken scratch was unmistakable; he’d written notes that had been discarded.

_Diet – can he survive off human food?_

The first sentence made his stomach sour. He didn’t want to know the rest, but the words were glaring up at him. For some reason – one he couldn’t explain, regardless of how hard he tried – he wrote about vampires. Dropping the notebook, he stepped back. His hands were shaking.

Eddie didn’t have the faintest clue how he got here.

Whenever he remembered moments in his life, it was because they were significant, or differed from the norm. He didn’t have to think about each day; typically, they weren’t special. As he racked his brains to fill in the gaps, he realized he couldn’t. Every day in Derry felt the same; he couldn’t pick out anything special. In the beginning, he and Stan were reacquainting themselves. He met Patty. He met Mike. The party was fuzzy, but he remembered being there.

Bill acted like a lunatic in his house, and then... at Mike’s?

Eddie felt as though his brain were setting up roadblocks, and he couldn’t figure out why.

Picking up his phone, he called the only person who wouldn’t think he was crazy.

“Eddie?”

“Bill! Bill, I need you to come over as soon as possible-”

“Eddie, slow down,” Bill said, and Eddie could hear him sitting up from either a creaking bed or chair. “Is everything okay? What happened?” His concern was more genuine and intense than Eddie expected, though he couldn’t say he didn’t need it.

“I’m fine, sorta. I think. I don’t know,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I need to talk to someone who won’t make any judgements. Something really weird is going on.” He bit his lip, thinking of how to explain something he could hardly explain to himself. On the other end of the line, Bill was silent. Eddie took this as a sign to continue. “I saw someone today that- I thought I dreamed him up, but he’s real. But- Bill, I dreamed him when I was a kid. Except... I don’t think it was a dream. It’s... complicated. Ever since I came back to Derry, it feels like I’ve been _in_ a dream.” He sounded like a maniac.

But Bill didn’t make him feel that way.

“I’ll be over in a minute. Just lock your doors and keep calm, okay?” he said, abruptly hanging up.

Eddie had no idea how that was supposed to help him calm down. In fact, he was now more stressed than he had been when initially making the call.

Thankfully, Bill didn’t make him wait long.

When Eddie answered the door, Bill briskly walked in with smoke floating from his hand. He held burning sage, and he waved it all around the living room before heading into the kitchen. Eddie’s eyes were wide as he followed, confused to say the least. This also didn’t help him calm down.

“Bill?”

“I know this seems crazy, but we’re both reserving judgements, okay?” Bill said firmly, snuffing out the smoke in the sink before taking a seat at the island counter. Hesitantly, Eddie joined him. “Tell me everything, from the beginning. I’m here to help.” He reached out, placing a hand over Eddie’s and squeezing. The action almost made Eddie cry.

“I woke up this morning and I thought I’d been in a coma. Remembering my car accident made things make a little more sense, but then it all got... weird,” Eddie said, thinking of where he had been this morning. Stan and Patty mentioned Mike’s party, but Eddie didn’t know how he arrived home or when. Much like the night Frank died, he woke up without knowing how he got to bed. “I drew this boy in class; I never saw him before in my life. I mean, I _swore_ I hadn’t!” Bill nodded, his brow furrowing.

“Can I see the drawing?” he asked. Nodding, Eddie fetched the sketchbook from his bag on the couch, bringing it to Bill. He stared at the picture; confusion, and something akin to hurt, clouded his eyes. Glancing at Eddie, his brow cocked, he opened his mouth to speak. However, nothing came out. Instead, he sighed and pressed his lips into a thin line. “You don’t know him?” He sounded disbelieving. Mistrustful, even.

Hesitantly, Eddie nodded and said, “I thought I didn’t. But I saw him later, and- I realized I’d seen him _before_. When my dad died.” This piqued Bill’s interest. His critical gaze became even more confused, then interested. He pulled his hand back, though Eddie didn’t want him to.

“What do you mean when your dad died? You always said you were asleep,” Bill reminded him. Eddie bit his lip; he didn’t know that. He couldn’t remember what he told his friends when Frank died, if he’d said anything at all.

“I thought it was a dream, for the longest time. I was supposed to turn off his machines myself. He _wanted_ to die, and Sonia was just keeping him alive because... I don’t know, she had control. She wanted him to suffer,” he said. The words began coming out without much thought or care. These were his honest feelings, but he had a sinking suspicion that he hadn’t allowed himself to feel them for quite some time. “I hated her for it. I wanted Frank to stop hurting, and he told me I could help... but I didn’t. I just woke up, and he was dead. But before that! I swear I- I went to the room...” The holes in his memory were filling with concrete. He missed something just out of reach – like a word on the tip of his tongue he couldn’t figure out. “I saw this boy, and he had a girl with him. They looked at me, and that’s the last thing I remember.”

For a split second, Eddie swore this excited Bill.

However, it was only a second, and he couldn’t confirm what the emotions on Bill’s face were.

His mouth twisted, and he pressed his fingertips together in front of his lips. Eddie recognized Bill’s thinking face. This expression used to fill him with unbridled anxiety. Usually it meant they would be going on a dangerous adventure around town; possibly the sewers, where Bill believed there were treasures.

Pushing his seat out, he hopped off and came around to stand beside Eddie.

“There’s a lot to work with here,” he said softly, offering a small smile. “You were right to call me; this is pretty strange.” Relief washed over Eddie. He didn’t want to sound crazy, and Bill’s assurance was enough to bring him back down to earth. “I’ve gotta get some stuff from my house, but I’ll be back. Okay? We’ll talk more in... half an hour? You’ll be alright here by yourself, right?” He held onto Eddie’s shoulders firmly, looking earnestly into his eyes. Eddie nodded, not wanting Bill to leave so soon, but eased by the fact he would return.

He didn’t want to be alone.

“Hey Bill?” Eddie hesitated, biting the inside of his cheek. “If it turns out that this is all because of my car accident, you’ll still come by more often, right?” At this, Bill was genuinely taken aback. Eddie could tell from how his stutter returned.

“Y-yeah. I’ll be around whenever you w-want,” he said, the corners of his mouth turning up in a smile. Again, he opened his mouth to speak, but thought better of it. Instead, he ruffled Eddie’s hair the same way he would do to Georgie. “I’ll be right back.” Nodding, Eddie walked him outside. He stood on the edge of his porch, watching Bill mount his bicycle and urgently pedal away.

He remained in the spot until thunder began rumbling overhead, and although faint, Eddie didn’t want to risk getting caught by rain. Locking the door behind him, he thought about the back entrance, wondering if he ever bothered to secure the sliding glass door. As he left to check, he picked up his phone and opened the Facebook app.

Since returning to Derry, several people he went to school with started showing up in his recommendations. If the app was so smart, then he _had_ to use it to find his mystery man. Eddie couldn’t think of any other ways to fill his time, and he grew restless quickly. He swiped through the list of people, refreshing twice only to find similar names.

Nothing featuring the pale boy from his dream, and from his encounter earlier.

Once the doors were locked, Eddie rummaged through his fridge for a drink. Shockingly, the house was dry. Settling for a tall glass of strawberry milk, he pulled a row of cookies from the half-eaten bag in the pantry.

Sinking into his couch, turning on the tv for mindless white noise, Eddie realized he wasn’t scared of the boy. Maybe a little, but only because he didn’t know what was going on. He feared what he didn’t understand, rather than the mystery man himself. As a matter of fact, the guy was cute.

“Pull it together, Eddie,” he muttered under his breath, one hand half covering his face as he laughed. He wondered what would become of him if he _did_ lose his mind.

Glancing at his milk – from which he already took three large gulps – he realized the crazy train might’ve already left the crazy station.

For as long as he could remember, he suffered from lactose intolerance. He felt the milk sloshing in his stomach, but no aches or pains came.

* * *

Storming into his house, Richie’s fists were clenched at his sides.

The floor creaked beneath him, threatening to snap under his weight. Each stair he took groaned in protest; he didn’t bat an eye as he avoided in hole in the sixth step. A medium-sized spider dangled before him at the top of the staircase, which he swatted away easily. It landed in front of the fireplace, disappearing under a thick, dusty rug.

Searching the rooms on the second floor, his mouth twisted and he huffed. At the end of the hall, the last door swayed on the hinges. The final set of stairs, which led to the attic, were just within view. Richie wasted no time ascending them, expecting to find Beverly. Whenever she had a spare moment, she would go up to entertain their newest member.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Bev asked, closing the heavy book on her lap. Richie recognized it – a collection of fairy tales from around the world. Their mother read it to them when they were younger.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watched as the catatonic child remained motionless. He stared at the wall. Unblinking. Unwavering.

Since Maggie brought him home, the boy hadn’t moved. Richie couldn’t blame him. Truthfully, he pitied the kid. He couldn’t relate to the gravity of being told you would never see your family again, unless you wanted to risk killing them or being killed. On occasion, however, he would come up and talk to the boy about wanting to become human. That, at least, he understood.

Clearing his throat, he strode across the room to check the windows. He couldn’t hear anything; for the time being, they were alone.

“We need to talk,” he said sternly, his brow furrowing. Bev set the book aside, rising from the recliner. “Are you sure you wiped Eddie’s mind right?” At this, he heard a flurry of offended thoughts. Beverly’s nostrils flared as she scowled.

Glaring at Richie, she replied, “Of course I did. I’ve only been doing it my whole life.” Her voice rose with anger – she kept her temper in check with a majority of things, but her limit was having her power doubted. She was nothing if not thorough when she did a job. “Who falsified autopsies before Ben came along to do it for me? Who helped us get blood in our systems all those years? I don’t remember you being much help, _Richard_ -”

“Okay, okay! I’m sorry!” he cried, holding up his hands. Beverly huffed, rolling her eyes and folding her arms over her chest. Richie’s lips pursed. He waited for her to calm down before continuing. “He found me. He wasn’t supposed to remember this place, but he showed up and- and...” Running a hand through his hair, he sighed. “I can hear him thinking about me. He’s attracted; it’s starting again.” To say he was alarmed would’ve been a severe understatement.

The whole point of erasing Eddie’s memory was to keep him away from Richie. Their future together wasn’t an option, with both of them wanting drastically different things – which didn’t even begin to include the restrictions Richie lived under, per Maggie’s rule.

These were laws he couldn’t break. He had already done so once, which led to his problems today.

Maggie forbade him from killing humans. This wasn’t a rule she created herself, however. This was a decades-old law from the treaty. Their need for human blood would have to be satisfied through other means.

When Richie was younger, and angry at the fact he would live forever, he sought out ways to end his existence. He didn’t want to live through pages and pages of history; he wanted normalcy. He watched other children live their normal lives, and he desperately wanted to join. There weren’t many vampire children for him to befriend; he was too dangerous to regular kids. He was the predator, and they were prey.

No one trusted him to behave, so he didn’t.

His worst regret was roping Beverly into his plans, and getting her in trouble too.

 _At least her soulmate is happy in Derry_ , Richie thought bitterly, momentarily grateful his sister couldn’t hear his thoughts. She struggled with Ben Hanscom in the beginning – their mother made herself clear when it came to interacting with humans.

Since they broke the treaty by technically killing Frank, she framed two other rogue vampires for the betrayal. Maggie Tozier did what she had to do to keep her family safe, and in return, she ordered them never to set foot outside of town. She didn’t trust Richie to keep himself alive, and she wouldn’t give him another chance to kill himself. Her rules were simple: never leave Derry, and keep personal interactions with humans to a minimum.

“He’s your soulmate, Richie,” Beverly whispered, her hand on his shoulder. She squeezed him gently. Cautiously. “It’s not gonna be easy keeping him away – especially if he doesn’t leave.” At this, Richie scoffed and turned away.

“He’ll leave. It’s been on his mind since he got here,” he muttered. Beverly frowned, her head tilting.

“What’s the problem with telling him the truth? He might choose to forgive you, especially when he hears your side of things,” she said, and Richie knew she watched his every move for an answer. In all honesty, he knew Eddie would forgive him. Now that the _real_ truth came out (facts which stunned Richie into a fit of hysterical laughing), and Eddie remembered _he_ was tasked with pulling Frank’s plug, Richie’s mistake didn’t seem to matter. The real problem was- “Is it Mom? You know she’ll make an exception for this! She did for Ben.” Growling, Richie tugged at his hair.

“Stop, Bev! Just stop! The problem with that is, I don’t _want_ to be a vampire with Eddie forever! All I’ve ever wanted is to become human, and I don’t wanna take that from him. He has no idea how _boring_ and tiresome it gets, and we’ve been alive the same amount of time!” Richie exclaimed, bursting at the seams with his pent up aggression. He couldn’t express this to his mother; he feared what she might say or do. He never wanted to hurt her, after all she had done to keep him safe.

Becoming human was only a rumor, anyways. Richie held out hope, but there were no safe ways to test it.

In his peripheral vision, he could see Beverly opening her mouth to speak. However, before she could say anything, the child in the middle of the room stirred – his first movements in years.

Richie whipped around, exchanging an alarmed glance with Beverly. The child’s eyes were glossed over with a thick, silver film, blocking his brown irises. Instead of a reflection, Richie saw a different movement in them. People were running. Taking cover.

“Something’s coming,” the boy croaked, lifting his finger to point. There was nothing visible from the window, other than their normal view of town. The church bells began ringing, marking the change of hour. “Something that will kill us all.” Richie’s mouth dried. The boy rose to his feet, his finger still outstretched. “You’re all in danger. You’re all going to die.” Moving past Beverly, closing his hands around the kid’s shoulders, Richie shook him roughly.

 _I didn’t know a turned vampire could get powers! Is he really doing this?_ Beverly thought. Her expression hid nothing – Richie saw waves of panic and fear. He shrugged; he knew as little about vampires as she did.

“What’s coming? Kid!” Richie shouted, holding the boy firmly in place. The film disappeared from his eyes, and he became confused. His fright seemed mismatched all of a sudden.

“My brother,” he answered.


	9. Breaking Dawn Sucked and So Does This

There were rational ways to handle problems.

Then there was Richie’s way.

He stood on the rickety porch, his fist raised to knock on the door. Eddie lied on his bed upstairs, listening to another pop album. Richie froze when the image of his portrait came to mind. Eddie thought about how they locked eyes in the meadow, and how fervently he attempted to catch up to Richie. Yet again, he compared the mystery to his old Twilight books, though with more resistance than he had in their time together.

Richie couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes.

Of course, his mood didn’t linger. Biting his lip, he listened to all the fantasies running through Eddie’s mind as he lost control of them. For a second time, Eddie failed to fight off his daydreams of meeting the perfect man and having his fairy tale ending. They were lovers, swirled in passion while living a peaceful, domestic life.

Eddie had no idea how much they both wanted that.

Behind him, a vehicle slowly crept to a stop. Richie would’ve found this strange were he not preoccupied with Eddie’s imagination. Then, he heard the impatient clicking of heels, and he was yanked back to where he stood. Nobody else lived on Eddie’s street, and his housemates were still in town.

Swallowing thickly, Richie glanced over his shoulder. He knew she was waiting.

Maggie Tozier leaned against her black sedan, her arms crossed and her foot tapping on the cracked pavement. When their eyes met, she opened the door and climbed inside, waiting for him to do the same. Sighing, Richie’s shoulders slumped as he marched forward.

“At least we’re in something inconspicuous. Not like, a vampire car. A hearse, maybe,” Richie attempted to joke, but Maggie didn’t laugh. Her blank expression was worse than any perceived fury. He didn’t know what lines of defense to implement. Out of sheer desperation, he closed his eyes and tried to listen for anything.

Any stray thought that could give him an edge-

“You know I can tell when you do it, Richard. I don’t appreciate that,” Maggie scolded him, her hands gripping the wheel tightly as she drove away. The car didn’t make a peep; Eddie would never know they were there.

“Sorry,” Richie mumbled, sinking into his seat. Watching the town pass as they drove, neither of them spoke.

Maggie Tozier wasn’t an unreasonable woman, as Richie often made her out to be. She wasn’t cold and callous; she loved fiercely and in a way mothers were supposed to. In the early days, before vampirism became trendy, she would forgo meals to satisfy her children's needs. Richie and Beverly always came first.

Only when they drove past their house, and to the graveyard created for lost members of their coven, did Richie realize she raised them almost entirely on her own. She lost her mate early on in Richie’s life; she was doomed to spend eternity alone. Perhaps she _did_ understand the fears weighing on his mind. Staring down at his hands, he didn’t move as she exited the car.

She stood in front of the mausoleum, where Wentworth Tozier and her father were buried. Resigned, Richie trudged past the gravestones, nearly pausing when he reached Beverly’s parents. There were fresh flowers on the mound of dirt. Averting his gaze, he continued to dutifully follow his mother.

Inside the tomb, she pushed the one empty coffin, revealing a hatch. The only people who knew of its’ existence were members of the Tozier bloodline, and allegedly, the original peacekeeping hunter. She unlocked the wooden door, lighting a lantern to guide them down the spiral staircase. At the bottom was a small chamber.

Several melted candles were perched along the walls. There were dusty, broken stools arranged in a circle. In the center was a podium, and a firepit. Maggie wasted no time starting a new flame, the dim light enough to significantly brighten the room. Richie’s arms were folded tightly over his chest. He stood on the last stair, not wanting to move.

“Come on, Richie. We should talk about this,” she said, lifting an old roll of parchment from the podium.

Richie grimaced. He didn’t know why they used parchment. Normal paper existed by the time the treaty was made. Maggie would never confess that it was solely for aesthetic purposes. Vampires were dramatic; he couldn’t stand them sometimes.

“I know about the laws, Mom,” he huffed, reluctantly squatting beside the fire.

“Then why do I have to keep reminding you?” she demanded, and Richie noticed the troubled concern in her voice. Her throat was tightening; if he looked hard enough, he could probably see tears in her eyes. The idea of vampires crying made him want to laugh – he resisted successfully, for the first time in his life. “I know what the boy prophesized. Beverly told me when I got home.” Unrolling the treaty, she ran her finger down the aged document.

“We can’t-” Richie cut himself off. He didn’t want to explain how he knew the hunter allegedly coming after them. If Maggie realized she knew him, he would inevitably have to come clean about Eddie as well. It was enough that she saw his house. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to hear him.

He didn't need any additional insult; he realized she suspected him of inciting this attack. He didn’t have to invade her thoughts to know.

“The original peacekeeper passed away, some time ago. His son is on his way to discuss a plan,” she informed Richie. As if on cue, the hatch above them creaked.

Dust fell from each step as weight was thrust upon them. Richie saw the heavy boots first. Then the faded jeans. Thick flannel.

Finally, his face.

Mike Hanlon.

* * *

Bill sent Eddie a text about twenty minutes after he left, requesting they meet in Bassey Park. Although slightly confused, Eddie obliged. He rode his bicycle into town, rather than take his car. Bill mentioned he would drive them home later, and Eddie didn’t think much of it.

Surprisingly, the park wasn’t empty. As dusk settled, a bonfire grew brighter.

Several dozen people were crowded around, laughing and chatting. As Eddie approached, he realized they were college students – or at least close to his age. One of them noticed Eddie, a wide smile on her face as she motioned for him to come over.

“We’re telling spooky legends. Anyone who listens gets a free s’more,” she said, speaking as if the offer were the most enticing solicitation anyone ever created. He supposed by Derry’s standards, she wasn’t far off.

Hesitantly, he stepped closer.

A boy jumped onto a milkcrate in front of everyone, capturing their attention immediately. Eddie’s eyes widened – he knew this person. The hair was no longer blue, but a bleached blonde. His dark eyes were playfully sinister, which vastly differed from what Eddie remembered when he was bullied.

Victor Criss, for some reason, came back to town.

“Miss Carrie doesn’t know the lore of our beloved, shit-hole town. How we’re all descendants of vampires,” Victor shouted, eliciting hoots and hollers from the crowd. Eddie’s brow rose; he didn’t know this story either. Looking around, he saw that most of the listeners already knew the story - there were very few curious faces. “This is a debate as old as time itself. Who came first: humans or vampires?” A few people cried out their answer, which only made Victor smirk. “They arrived when this town was just a beaver trapping camp. Nobody could tell the difference between a devil, and a regular person.”

He spoke as if he were telling any other haunting story. Eddie was reminded of campfire tales, and silly rhymes that were meant to be taken playfully. Everyone here had to be joking. All except for Eddie. Part of him – deep down enough that he didn’t struggle to shake it off – wondered if he believed this as fact.

“What happened next, Vic?” someone asked, yanking Eddie from his thoughts. The warmth of the fire heated his face. That, or the mild embarrassment.

“When the jig was up, people started hunting these creatures. It was the Salem trials, but for bloodsuckers,” he said, wiggling his fingers for effect. Eddie grimaced; something about the presentation felt cheap. “After the first batch died, a witch doctor claimed she could make them human. She lived under the city with the rats and spiders, and she would take the corpses into the sewers with her. She never revealed what she did, but when a vampire went down there, a human would come out. Those are our ancestors.” Eddie wanted to laugh, but instead, he opened the internet browser on his phone.

Casually enough, he searched for “vampires turning human.” There was mostly irrelevant junk listed. The only information of interest came from a cheaply made website, which he took with a grain of salt.

_Vampires born into the life can eventually become human. However, vampires that were bitten (or, turned) are forced to remain the same age for all eternity, and can never go back to who they once were._

His bottom lip jutted out. He couldn’t say why the morbid curiosity overtook him, or why he felt pity for these imaginary vampires.

Of course, he had little time to ponder these thoughts. A hand clasped his shoulder, and Eddie screamed, startling the people closest to him. Everyone turned to look, and his face burned. Bill held up his hands sheepishly, offering an apologetic stare.

“My bad,” he murmured, barely audible as the crowd turned to face Victor again. Eddie grabbed Bill’s hand, pulling him away.

“Thank God you’re here, I was getting sucked into their stories,” he joked, laughing nervously. Bill chuckled, quickly taking the lead and heading to his beat-up car. Eddie didn’t recall him having a vehicle, but didn’t question it.

“I hope you’re up for an adventure,” Bill said, opening the passenger door for him. Eddie slid into his seat, frowning when the buckle wouldn’t click.

“I have no reason to say no,” he replied, fiddling with the belt. Once it locked, he looked up, seeing they were already driving. “Where are we going?” He expected Bill to have something related to his earlier concerns, but a distraction from the craziness would’ve been fine as well.

“It’s a surprise. Sorta. Just trust me, I think you’ll be happy once this is all said and done,” he assured Eddie. Something about his word choice wasn’t assuring at all, however. His giddiness didn’t match the car, nor did it match Eddie’s confusion.

Noticing a blanket in the backseat, his eyes narrowed. It was covering something, or _multiple_ somethings, and Eddie realized there was a stench coming from the pile. He couldn’t place what it was, but the sense of unease built in his stomach. The dread rose into his throat, but he didn’t dare scream. Suddenly, he felt he was in a dangerous situation.

* * *

Exiting the mausoleum, Richie’s head began to prickle. The edges of his brain throbbed, and the pain gradually increased. By the time he breathed fresh air again, a violent, agonizing sear shot through his head. For a split second, he thought a bullet pierced him. Panicked, he glanced at Mike and his mother. Neither of them acted as though anything was wrong, and why should they?

They spent the last half hour working out a plan to keep both sides protected, and the rogue hunter at bay.

The only problem was that the threat found his way to them, and he currently stood at the end of their driveway.

Maggie froze, realizing a second too late that they were out of time. She breathed in low and slow, catching the scent of unfamiliar humans. Richie swallowed thickly; the inner monologues of both guests were growing louder and more hectic. His head began pounding.

 _Why did he bring me here?! This looks like a place you go to get murdered. This looks more like the Blair Witch house than mine does!_ Eddie’s erratic and frantic thoughts were unmistakable. Richie remained rooted to his spot, watching through Eddie’s eyes as he and Bill Denbrough cautiously approached the house. Fear strangled him; Beverly never took the time to wipe Bill's mind. There was no telling what he shared with Eddie, or why he brought him here.

In Bill’s mind, Richie saw vivid imagery for the first time. His thoughts were usually never this prominent; he supposed the excitement made Bill louder. He could see the plans for an explosion – as Bill fetched a device from the back of his car, Richie’s stomach soured. He brought a bomb, with intent to kill every inhabitant of the vampire den.

“Mom-” Richie croaked, pointing in Bill’s direction. “Mom!” Snapping out of her daze, Maggie turned to Mike.

“The rogue hunter is _here_. You need to do something, quick! There’s a child upstairs!” she cried, running to the house. Mike, a second behind her, began sprinting as well. Richie lagged the furthest, stuck by the images in Bill’s mind. He planned on gunning down any survivors, with weapons he knew would work. All of his research paid off. Suddenly, Richie regretted not taking him seriously.

The scream rose in his throat, ripping his mouth open as he roared, “BEVERLY! BEVERLY, GET OUT OF THE HOUSE!” They were yards away – Bill had a significant distance on them. Richie looked through his mind again, seeing they were on the front steps. Eddie’s alarm and confusion reached a new intensity, forcing Richie to cover his ears. It wouldn’t help, but it was a reflex he couldn’t stop.

_IS THAT A FUCKING BOMB? WHAT THE FUCK? I CAN’T BE HERE, I CAN’T-_

Richie saw him attempt to protest, but Bill grabbed Eddie’s arm and dragged him along as he brutishly kicked open the door. Beverly’s thoughts immediately became vibrant as well, mingling with Bill and Eddie’s. She ran down the stairs, with Georgie in her arms. Richie almost screamed again, but Bill froze at the sight of his brother.

Mike reached the back patio first, ripping the door off the hinges as he hurriedly tried to get into the house.

“It’s Bill!” Richie shouted after him, though he wasn’t confident Mike heard him. “Bill’s the one in the house!” He was several feet behind his mother and Mike, and he held his breath as he pushed himself to run faster. Part of him expected to be blown away by the time he set foot in his living room.

When he reached the kitchen, he could hear Bill shouting. Eddie’s thoughts were a blaring siren, almost unintelligible in their volume.

 _YOU’RE USING ME AS A HUMAN SHIELD?_ His anger outmatched Bill’s, though that could’ve been from the shock. Eddie’s mouth opened, but he couldn’t force the words out. Richie skidded to a halt behind his mother. Everyone was present; Bill held Eddie’s arm tightly by the front door, while he, Mike, and Maggie were stood opposite of him, and Beverly held Georgie in the middle of the staircase.

Bill’s shock worsened upon seeing Mike.

“Bill? What are you-”

“Mike?!”

Only then did Richie squint, a thought clicking in his mind.

“How does he not know you’re the peacekeeper for this town? How did you not know _he_ was the rogue hunter? Don’t you live together?!” Richie shouted, looking between them. Mike turned his confused gaze on Richie, suddenly more alarmed than bewildered. Groaning, Richie looked to Beverly, and motioned at both him and Eddie. “Just give them the memories back. We don’t have time to explain.” Beverly didn’t move for a moment.

She was a deer in the headlights, but once she snapped her fingers, her power reversed.

Richie stared straight into Eddie’s eyes, and he could see their whirlwind romance flooding back through his head. He staggered, nearly falling out of Bill’s grip. It took him several seconds to collect himself, but once he did, he watched Richie carefully. The fear was obvious – and Richie understood why his mother hadn’t moved an inch.

Bill was still a wild card, regardless of whether or not his brother was right in front of him.

He stared at his brother as Beverly lowered him to his feet. Georgie tried to wave, but tears welled in his eyes. Richie didn’t know what to expect, but he certainly didn’t think this would enrage Bill.

“This is a trick. This is a d-dirty trick!” he hollered, pulling a gun from the holster around his hip.

“Bill, no!” Mike shouted, running forward and shoving his arm up. A loud crack filled the room; Eddie winced and covered his ears, sinking to his knees. The makeshift bomb flew from Bill’s hands, landing in the center of the room. A plume of dust came up from the rug where the bomb hit, and the timer began beeping. Richie read sixty seconds on the clock, and his heart thumped harder.

Everything moved in slow motion – his immediate attention was on the bomb, regardless of whatever his mom was screaming about. His head turned slowly as he watched her catch Beverly’s body, which fell lifelessly from the stairs. Barely covered by her tank top, he saw the bullet hole where Bill shot.

Mike struggled with Bill, clearly hesitant to fight his boyfriend. Richie heard a muted apology as Mike wrestled the gun from him, knocking him over the head with it. Bill’s eyes rolled back, and he slumped on the floor. His heart still beat, unlike Beverly’s, but Richie couldn’t focus on revenge just yet. Grabbing the bomb, he ran past Eddie, casting one last, apologetic glance.

If he were to die, then this would be the best way.

Eddie didn’t need to be dragged any further into this than he already was. He could move on like any other human, and grow away from Richie.

Shutting his eyes, he sprinted faster, lifting the bomb over his head to lunge it across the empty field.

“Richie!” Eddie cried. Much to Richie’s horror, he realized Eddie wasn’t far behind him.

Hastily throwing the bomb, he whirled around, catching Eddie in his arms and bringing him to the ground. He lied on top of him protectively, hoping to shield him from most of the damage the bomb would cause. There were only five seconds left when he threw it – the explosion was coming any moment now.

Except it didn’t.

Both of them lied with their eyes shut tight. There was a rumble in the distance, not unlike how the ground would shake when a heavy truck drove by. Richie was the first to peek.

Smoke rose from the bomb, but the explosive failed to ignite as Bill had planned. The hole in the ground was deep enough – it definitely would’ve caused damage to a person close by, but nothing near the caliber it was meant for. At most, it would've blown a hole in their already damaged floor. Perhaps the disgusting rug would've burned up.

Rising to his feet, he held out a hand for Eddie.

“ _That_ was Bill’s big plan?” he asked incredulously. Glancing up at Richie, his head tilted. “And making me forget everything was _yours_?” He didn’t sound angry, but he wasn’t pleased either.

“Eddie, I’m sorry-”

But his apology died in his throat as he heard the shouting coming from the house. His expression desperate, he hesitantly squeezed Eddie’s shoulder before running back. He saw Mike carrying Beverly to the ground floor, lying her out on the rug. Bill was adjacent to her, a large, bloody lump on his head from where the butt of the gun struck him.

“I can save her, Magdalene. Trust me – just please, spare Bill and I’ll take care of him too,” Mike pleaded, hurriedly searching for tools in his backpack. Richie stood in the doorway, unsure of what to do. Glancing at his mom, he saw her standing protectively in front of Georgie. Her eyes were trained on Bill, as he began to wake up.

He groaned, rubbing his head.

“I should kill him,” she snarled. Richie saw the bloodlust in her eyes. She didn’t believe Mike knew what he was doing, and truthfully, neither did Richie.

“Just one second, please!” Mike begged, working as quickly as he could. Richie saw a bloody silver bullet lying beside Mike, but he averted his gaze before the images of his dead sister could fill his mind. Behind him, Eddie touched his arm tentatively.

He wanted to respond, but Bill sat up, instantly searching for his brother. Although in pain, he reached for a knife in his belt, revealing the silver dagger. Maggie stepped forward, guarding Georgie. Richie nearly threw himself at Bill, prepared to strangle and subdue him.

However, for the second time, Georgie spoke.

“Bill,” was all he said, which was enough to make his brother drop the weapon. “Please don’t.” Bill stared at Georgie, the anger and astonishment giving way to a desperate hope. He reached out for his brother, but Maggie stepped between them.

“I don’t trust him. He’ll hurt this child,” she said grimly, glaring down at Bill. His eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. Richie read similar thoughts to the ones Eddie had earlier. None of this was correct - Bill thought this was the end of his sanity, and he was fully willing to dive off the edge if it meant he could have his brother back.

“Magdalene, please,” Mike said, pushing himself up. Richie looked down at Beverly, his eyes widening as he watched the wound close. Her skin flushed with a light, peach color – still pale, but not as much as before. Her heart began beating again, pumping blood through her veins. This time, the blood was all her own. “It will keep the peace if he can see Georgie again.” Maggie watched in amazement as Beverly’s eyes opened, and she sat up, perfectly alive and well.

Perfectly, _humanly_ alive.

Running from the child, she wrapped her arms around Beverly, kissing the top of her daughter’s head.

“I- I can’t believe- it's true?!” she asked, looking up at Mike. He nodded, wiping blood from his hands. Richie’s jaw dropped; this was the theory he had banked on for so long, with nothing but baseless hope.

“I can be human?” he asked breathlessly, watching Beverly’s cheeks pool with natural blood.

Nobody answered him. As Maggie held Beverly, Mike approached Bill. He knelt in front of Georgie, allowing his long-lost baby brother to cup his face and smile down at him. Mike pressed his forehead to Bill’s temple and mumbled, “You’re an idiot. You would’ve died if I wasn’t here. I am so, _so_ angry with you.” As soft as his tone was, Richie didn't believe what Mike said - though that was for Bill to find out later. For now, he had a moment of peace which he chased for years.

Peering over his shoulder, Richie snickered and added, “Denbrough, what did you expect to accomplish with that shitty bomb?” Instead of acknowledging him, Bill held up his middle finger.

At Richie’s side, Eddie watched everyone, soaking in the scene. His thoughts weren’t running rampant. That, or he was guarding himself from being heard. Richie could make out a dull murmur, but he didn’t have time to ask.

“You’re not going to kill Bill, right? He- I know he attacked your home; he shouldn’t have. I-” Eddie struggled to come up with a solid case for Bill, but he didn’t need to. Maggie held up her hand, and while she reserved contempt for Bill Denbrough, she was too relieved to stay angry.

“The peacekeeper has done his job. That’s enough for now,” she answered, meeting Richie’s gaze. She heard his earlier question. She knew what he wanted, and the subtle nod she gave was enough for him to lead Eddie out onto the porch. There was a lot for them to talk about, if Richie wanted to become human for him.

Taking a deep breath, he began with: “I’m sorry. I was gonna reverse the memory thing as soon as I realized it was pointless. You were always gonna find me. We’re meant to be together; not even stupid vampire magic could keep us apart.” The corner of Eddie’s mouth curled up. He held back a laugh, and Richie knew he was thinking of Twilight without having to read his thoughts. His shoulders slumped, and he added, “I’m sorry about Frank too. I understand if... that’s something we can’t move past.” It didn’t matter if he only killed Frank because he was about to die anyways.

He was still Eddie’s father.

Eddie stared down at his feet, biting his lip as he mulled over the apology. When he looked back up at Richie, he smiled.

“It’s weird – crazy, probably – to still be so in love with someone who killed my dad, and tried to make such bold choices for me,” he said. Licking his lips, he surprised Richie by grabbing his hands. “But I was supposed to unplug all my dad’s machines that night, even though I didn’t want to. When I think about it, you saved me from the trauma. I didn't need to carry any guilt, and now I don't. Since I remember everything, I feel... maybe not better, but different. A good different.” Squeezing Richie’s hand, Eddie laughed. “All of this is crazy.”

Nodding in agreement, Richie reached to cup his face, running his thumbs along Eddie’s cheeks.

“It is. You’re not wrong,” he sighed, relief beginning to ripple through him. Maybe - just maybe - they could make everything work, after all.

“By the way,” Eddie said, pulling back just a bit. “Did you really say ‘yeet’ when you threw that bomb?”

Richie’s face fell.

Of course Eddie would find a way to create a bump in their otherwise nice moment.

“Eds, shut up,” he laughed, tilting Eddie’s chin to kiss him. Eddie’s thoughts became clear to him, and he saw a future that included them growing old together. The idea gave him a peace he hadn’t known for his entire life. When they broke apart, stealing one last peck, Eddie turned to look out at the bomb. His nose scrunched; he was unimpressed with Bill’s work to say the least. “This was all pretty anti-climactic, huh?” He snickered, and Eddie shook his head.

“So was the last Twilight book,” he replied. Groaning, Richie covered his eyes.

“If there’s one thing I regret, it’s that Bev couldn’t delete that stupid book from your brain,” he said. Eddie cackled, but cut himself off abruptly. When Richie lifted his hand, he saw Maggie had joined them. She held the revolver, still loaded with silver bullets. Richie swallowed thickly, leaving Eddie to hug his mother. She held him tightly in her arms, pressing her lips to his forehead.

He stared into Maggie’s eyes; a silent conversation being exchanged between them. She filled his mind with images of the future see saw, which (like Eddie’s) involved him growing old as a normal, human man.

“What’s going on?” Eddie asked, alarm in his voice as he eyed the gun. Chuckling, Richie turned to look at him.

“If I turn you, then you have once chance at life. Anything can happen,” Richie explained. Eddie bit the inside of his cheek; for a split second, he forgot Richie could read his thoughts, and knew exactly what he used to want. “You can’t age the same, and there’s a lot of adjustments you have to make that you don’t think about. It’s kinda... one-sided, and I think we deserve more. I think we deserve to live out full, average, happy lives.” Holding Eddie’s hand, he glanced at his mother and nodded. She held the gun up to his chest, right over his heart. “Besides, no one else can say they took a bullet for you, Eddie Kaspbrak.”

This made Eddie laugh, and he squeezed Richie’s hand almost as tightly as Maggie had hugged him.

Richie expected nothing but good to come from this. He would visit his mother as often as she wanted, and eventually, he would bring grandchildren. Eventually, she would be able to plan a wedding. Their family would grow again, and grow happily.

Taking his last breath as a vampire, he shut his eyes, and his mother pulled the trigger.


	10. Epilogue: The Happy Ending

“Legend says that many of the old Derry families descended from vampires,” Eddie said, mimicking the wiggling fingers and haunting tones of Victor Criss. The children surrounding his porch all listened in awe, their wide eyes twinkling with wonder (and in some cases, a bit of terror). “Only a silver bullet could turn them human. Once shot, the bullet _had_ to be extracted safely. The last of their vampire magic would heal the wound, and turn them human.” There were small “ooohs” and “wows” among the crowd of trick-or-treaters.

One of the little girls raised her hand and asked, “Are there still vampires in Derry?”

Eddie paused passing out candy, rubbing his chin as if he didn’t know.

“They could be anywhere, these days. Closer than you might think,” he said, giving Richie his cue. Beside the children, Richie lied in a large, closed coffin full of even more candy. Hearing the magic words, he shoved the door open and roared, scaring the group. Most of the kids ran towards the fence, but others stopped halfway, giggling and pointing as Richie’s plastic fangs fell out.

“Happy Halloween,” he said, offering more chocolates. The parents were laughing, as were most of the kids now. They said their thank yous and left, passing the newly developing houses on Eddie’s street. Climbing out of the coffin, Richie popped a piece of caramel into his mouth.

Three years passed since Eddie finished the passion project that was rebuilding his childhood home, nearly doubling the value. He considered selling, and leaving behind the less than pleasant memories of his mother… but then he thought of his father. Frank bought the house with the intent of having a happy family, and Eddie wanted to honor his memory with a loving home of his own.

Besides, with Stan and Patty buying a house across the street, staying just made sense.

Ben and Beverly were already renting an apartment in town, and they all frequently went out together.

Even Bill – though it took a few months for everyone to warm up to him again after the bomb threat. Mike still occasionally acted as the bridge between him and Richie. However, Bev acted considerably more gracious towards him, considering he shot her.

“You know, eating so much candy won’t work out well for you anymore,” Eddie teased, poking Richie’s stomach. He quickly realized how accustomed Richie was to trashing his body without consequence – as a human, that simply wouldn’t fly. Rolling his eyes, Richie wrapped his arms around Eddie’s waist.

“Sure, sure,” he mumbled, nuzzling his face in Eddie’s hair. They were dressed as Bert and Ernie this year – a favorite among the children. Eddie pulled away, his gaze drifting from one part of the house to another. Richie’s mouth twisted. It was times like these he missed being able to read Eddie’s mind, and say the perfect thing. “Are you okay?”

Of course, he supposed regular communication worked too.

Eddie smiled, nodding.

“I was just thinking about the end of Twilight,” he said, eliciting a groan from Richie.

“Are you disappointed in how uninteresting vampires really are?” Richie asked, pouting his bottom lip. This much was true – Maggie took it upon herself to educate Eddie with everything she knew. He found the history lessons much more engaging than Richie had, which Richie found extremely difficult to believe. Instead of going to bible school on Sundays, they went to Magdalene Tozier’s school of vampirism. Although Richie struggled to stay awake (a shocking effect of being human), he enjoyed watching his mother bond with Eddie, and become the mom he always deserved. Even without being able to read his mind, he could see it in his eyes: he compared her to Sonia.

And Maggie definitely won the title of best mother.

Laughing, Eddie said, “Not at all. I promise I have a point.” Taking a breath, he looked around the house again. “I’m really glad Stan and Patty are gonna be our neighbors.” Richie saw more in Eddie’s eyes – his real point was just beneath the surface. “At the end of the book, Bella and Edward had their perfect family. Everything was happy.”

Finally, it clicked.

Richie smirked, closing the distance between them.

“Are you asking for... what I think you’re asking for?”

“Maybe.” Neither of them spoke. Eddie’s face gave away everything – he would’ve made a terrible poker player. "I want kids. I think it’d be fun.” A faint blush crept into his cheeks. As comfortable as he had gotten with vulnerability and intimacy, there were still times he couldn’t escape the mild embarrassment. Richie supposed only time would help.

And just maybe, kids.

“Well,” Richie said, hoisting Eddie over his shoulder. Eddie shrieked with giggles, slapping Richie’s butt. “I might not be a vampire anymore, but I’ll see what magic I can pull off.” He carried Eddie up the stairs, knowing full well that Patty and Beverly would agree to surrogate, for the right price. “We won’t leave that bed until you’re good and pregnant.” Eddie snorted, rolling his eyes.

Richie plopped him down on the bed, hovering over him and studying his face. They were a bit young for parenthood, but it was at least fun to talk about.

“That’s not possible, Rich,” Eddie teased, puckering his lips for a kiss.

“I know that well enough,” Richie responded, happily obliging.


End file.
